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Full text of "Bombers over the Reich"

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THE IBETiROTHElDo 



LADT EVELINE AND THE ]^RIE£iT ON THE BATTLEMENTS. 

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»v» 

WAYERLEY NOYELS. 



VOLUME XIX. 



THE BETROTHED., 



THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 



EDINBUKGH : 
ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK, 



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TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 



THE BETROTHED. 



CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE 



THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 



TOt. XtX. 



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INTRODUCTION 



THE BETROTHED. 



Thb Tales of the Crusaders was determined upon as the tit)« 
of the following series of these Novels, rather by the advice of the 
few Mends whom death has now rendered still fewer, than by 
the author's own taste. Not but that he saw plainly enough the 
hiterest which might be excited by the very name of the Cru- 
sades, bat he was conscious at the same time that that interest 
was of a character which it might be more easy to create than to 
latisfy, and that by the mention of so magnificent a subject each 
reader might be induced to call up to his imagination a sketch so 
extensive and so grand that it might not be in the power of the 
author to fill it up, who would thus stand in the predicament of 
the dwarf brin^g with him a standard to measure his own 
stature, and shewing himself, therefore, says Sterne, ^ a dwarf 
Bore ways than one.'' 

It is a fact, if it were worth while to ezamme it, that the 
publisher and author, however much their general interests are 
the same, may be said to differ so far as titlepages are concerned; 
and it is a secret of the tale^lling art, if it could be termed a 
secret worth knowing, that a taking title, as it is called, best 
answers the purpose of the bookseller, since it often goes fSar to 
cover lus risk, and sells an edition not unfrequently before the 
public have well seen it But the author ought to seek more 
permanent fame, and wish that his work, when its leaves are first 
«t open, should be at least fau:ly judge^ o^ tVV many of the 





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4 INTBODUCTION TO 

best novelists have been anxious to give their worics sach titlefl 
as render it out of the reader's power to conjecture their con- 
tents, until they should have an opportunity of reading them. 

AU this did not prevent the Tales of the Crusaders from being 
the title fixed on ; and the celebrated year of projects (eighteen 
hundred and twenty-five) being the time of publication, an intro- 
duction was prefixed according to the humour of the day. 

The first tale of the series was influenced in its structure, 
rather by the wish to avoid the general expectations which might 
be formed from the title, than to comply with any one of them, 
and so disappoint the rest.. The story was, therefore, less an 
incident belonging to the Crusades, than one which was occasioned 
by the singular cast of mind introduced and spread wide by those 
memorable undertakings. The confusion among families was not 
the least concomitant evil of the extraordinary preponderance ol 
this superstition. It was no unusual thing for a Crusader, re- 
turning from his long toils of war and pilgrimage, to find his 
£unily augmented by some young off-shoot, of whom the deserted 
matron could give no very accurate account, or perhaps to find 
his marriage-bed filled, and that, instead of becoming nuroe to an 
old man, his household dame had preferred being the lady-love ol 
a young one. Numerous are the stories of this kind told in 
different parts of Europe ; and the returned knight or baron, 
according to hia temper, sat down good-naturedly contented with. 
tlie account which his lady gave of a doubtful matter, or called in 
blood and fire to vindicate his honour, which, after all, had been 
endangered chiefly by his forsaking his household gods to seek 
adventures in Palestine. 

Scottish tradition^ quoted, T think, in some part of the Border 
Minstrelsy, ascribes to the dan of Tweedie, a family once stout 
and warlike, a descent which would not have misbecome a hero 
of antiquity. A' baron, somewhat elderly we may suppose, had 
wedded a buxom young lady, and some months after their union 
he left her to ply the distaff alone in his old tower, among the 
mountains of the county of Peebles, near the sources of the 
Tweed. He returned after seven or eight years, no uncommon 
space for a pilgrimage to Palestine, and found his family had not 
been lonely in his absence, the lady having been cheered by the 
lurrival of a stranger, (of whose approach she could give the best 

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THC BETROTHED. 5 

afconnt of any one,) who hung on her skirts^ and eaUed lier 
mammy, and was just such as the baron would hare longed 
to call his son, but that he could by no means make his age 
ocnrrespond, according to the doctrine of civilians, with his own 
departure for Palestine. He applied to his wife, therefore, for the 
•ohttion of this dilemma. The lady, after many floods of tears, 
which she had reserved for the occasion, informed the honest 
gentleman, that, walking one day alone by the banks of the infant 
river, a human form arose from a deep eddy, still known and 
termed Tweed-pool, who deigned to inform her that he was tlie 
tutelar genius of the stream, and, hongri nuUgri, became the 
&ther of the sturdy fellow, whose appearance had so much sur- 
prised her husband. This story, however suitable to Pagan times, 
would have met with full credence from few of the baron's con- 
temporaries, but the wife was young and beautiful, the husband 
old and in his dotage ; her family (the Erasers, it is believed) 
were powerful and warlike, and the baron had had fighting enough 
in the holy wars. The event was, that he believed, or seemed to 
bdieve, the tale, and remained contented with the child with 
idumi his wife and the Tweed had generously presented him. 
The only circumstance which preserved the memory of the inci- 
dent was, that the youth retained the name of Tweed, or Tweedie. 
The baron, meanwhile, could not, as the old Scotch song says, 
" Keep the cradle rowing," and the Tweed apparently thouglit 
one natural son was family enough for a decent Presbyterian 
lover ; and so little gall had the baron in his composition, that 
having bred up the young Tweed as his heir while he lived, he 
left him in that ampacity when he died, and the son of the river- 
god founded the family of Dmmmelzier and others, from whom 
have flowed, in the phrase of the Ettrick Shepherd, ^ many a 
brave fellow, and many a bauld feat." 

The tale of the Noble Moringer is somewhat of the same 
nature — it eipsts in a collection of German popular songs, 
entitled, Sammlung Dentschen Volkslieder, Berlin, 1807; pub- 
Bflhed by Messra Busching and Yon der Hagen. The song in 
supposed to be extracted from a manuscript chronicle of Nicolas 
Thomann, chaplain to St Leonard in Wiessenhom, and dated 
1533. The biOlad, which is popular in Germany, is supposed, 
firam the language, to have been composed in the fifteenth oen* 



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6 INTRODUCTION TO 

tury. The Noble MoriDger, a powerful baron of Germany, ab<k^ 
to set out on a pilgrimage to the land of St Thomas, with the 
geography of which we are not made acquainted, resolves to 
commit his castle, dominions, and lady, to the v^jssal who should 
pledge him to keep watch over them tiU the seven years of his" 
pilgrimage were accomplished. His chamberlain, an elderly and 
a cautious man, declines the trust, observing, that seven days, 
instead of seven years, would be the utmost space to which he 
would consent to pledge hhnself for the fidelity of any woman. 
The esquire of the Noble Moringer confidently accepts the 
trust refused by the chamberlain, and the baron departs gd. his 
pilgrimage. The seven years are now elapsed, all save a angle 
day and night, when, behold, a vision descends on the noUe 
pilgrim as he sleeps in the hmd of the stranger. 

*' It was the noble Moringer within an orebard tHept, 
When on the Baron's slumbering sense a boding vision crept, 
And whispered in his ear a voice, * Tis time, Sir Knight, to wake— 
Thy hidy and thy heritage another master talte. 

«< < Thy tower another banner knows, thy steeds another rein. 
And stoop them to another's will, thy gallant vassal train ; 
And she, the lady of thy love, so faithful once and foir. 
This night, within thy father's hall, she weds Marstetten's hei^.* " 

The Moringer starts up and prays to his patron St Thomas, to 
j^escue him from the impending shame, which his devoticm to his 
patron had placed him in danger of incurring. St Thomas, who 
must have felt the justice of the imputation, performs a miracle. 
The Moringer's senses were drenched in oblivion, and when he 
waked he lay in a well-known spot of his own domain ; on hia 
right the Castle of his fathers, and on his left the mill, which, as 
usual, was built not far distant from the Castle. 

** He leaned upon his pilgrim's staff, and to the mill he drew— 
So altered was his goodly form that none their master knew. 
The baron to the miller said, * Good friend, for charity. 
Tell a poor pilgrim, in your land, what tidings may there be ?' 

"The miller answered him again — * He knew of little news. 
Save that the lady of the land did a new bridegroom choose ; 
Her husband died in distant h&nd, such is the constant word. 
Bis death Bits heavy on onr tools, be was a worthy lord. 



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THE BETROTHED. 7 

«« < Of him rheM the little miU, which wu» me living fire^ -. 
God rest the baron in hi« grove, he aye was kind to me ! 
And when St Martin's tide comes round, and millers take their toll. 
The priest that pnys for Moringer shall have both cope and stole.* " 

The baron proceeds to the Castle gate, which is bolted to 
prevent intrusion, while the inside of the mansion rung with 
preparations for the marriage of the lady. The pilgrim prayed 
the porter for entrance, conjuring him by his own sufferings, and 
for the sake of the late Moringer ; by the orders of his hidy, the 
warder gave him admittance. 

*' Then up the hall paced Moringer, his step was sad and dow i 
It sat full heavy on his heart, none seemed their lord to know. 
He sat him on a lowly bench, oppressed with wo and wrong ; 
Short while he sat, bat ne'er to him seem'd little space so long. 

** Now spent was day, and feasting o'er, and come was evraiing hoar, 
- The time was nigh when new made brides retire to nuptial l>ower. 
' Our Castle's wont,' a bride's man said, ' hath been both firm and long— 
No guest to harbour in our halls till he shall diant a song.' " 

When thus called upon, the disguised baron sung the follow* 
ing-melancholy ditty : — 

'* * Chni flows the lay of firozen age,' 'twas thus the pilgrim sung, 
« Nor golden meed, nor garment gay, unlocks his heavy tongue. 
Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board as rich as thine, 
And by my side as fair a bride, with all her eharms, was mine. 

<* * But time traced fiirrows on my face, and I grew silver hahied. 
For locks of brown, and cheeks of youth, die left this brow and beard ; 
Once rich, iMit now a palmer poor, I tread life's latest stage. 
And mingle witii your bridal mirth the lay of frozen age.' " 

The lady, moved at the doleful recollections which the palmer's 
song recalled, sent to him a cup of wine. The palmer, having 
exhausted the goblet, returned it, and having first dropped in 
the cup his nuptial ring, requested the lady to pledge her vene- 
rable guest 

*' The ring liatb caught the lady's eye, she views it close and near. 
Then might you hear her shriek aloud, * The Moringer is here !' 
Then might you see her start from seat, while tears in torrents fell, 
But if she wept for joy or wo, the Udies best can tell. 



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8 INTRODUCTION TO 

** Fnn loud ihe iitter*d thaoks to HwTeo, and e?«7 ninflj poirer. 
That had restored the Morioger before the nddnight hour ; 
And loud she iitter*d vow on tow, that never was there bride. 
That had like her preserved her Uoth, or been so sorelj tried. 

'* * Tee, here I dalm the praise/ she said, * to constant matrons dB*» 
Who keep the troth, that they have plight, so steadfMtly and tree ; 
For count the term howe*er you will, so that yon count aright. 
Seven twelvemonths and a day are out when bells toll twelve to>ni|^* 

<* It was Marstetten then rose up, his falchion there he drew. 
He kneeled before the Moringer, and down his weapon threw ; 

* My oath and knightly fUth are broke,' these were the words he said; 
' Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, and take thy vassal*s head.' 

" The Noble Moringer, he smiled, and then akrad did say, 

* He gathers wisdom that hath roamed seven twelvemonths and a day; 
My daughter now hath fifteen years, fjune speaks her sweet and fiUr ; 

I give her for the bride yon lose, and name her for my heir. 

<*' The young bridegroom hath youthM biide, the old bridegroom tfaa old. 
Whose llsith was kept till term and tide so punctually were told; 
But blessings on the warder kind that oped my castle gate. 
For had I come at morrow tide, I came a day too late.* " 

There is also, in the rich field of German romance, another 
edition of this story, which has been converted by M. Tieck 
(whose labours of that kind have been so remarkable) into ih« 
sabject of one of his romantic dramas. It is, however, unne- 
cessary to detail it, as the present author adopted his idea of the 
tale chiefly fi*om the edition preserved in the mansion of Haigh- 
hall, of old the mansion-house of the fiunily of Bradshaigh, now 
possessed by their descendants on the female side, the Earls of 
Balcarras. The story greatly resembles that of the Noble 
Moringer, only there is no miracle of St Thomas to shock the 
belief of good Protestants. I am permitted, by my noble friends, 
the lord and lady of HaighhaU| to print the following extract 
from the fiunily genealogy. 



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THE BETROTHID. 9 

Sir ^SBtdiam ISralrstarte 2li K MtAtll l»atig)tet mlr 
Sone to t>r iofn teas fl T JboU teite ot fH^ugt 

treat troueller anir 9 I Norit tie l^oirte anlr 

SouHrser an)} marrulr f BUdtrolre an)} ^ niflut 

Co i i>r.8.£& 

of ttto fiSUAtl M a ftors tff trolittioii ot unlioute]! 
brrits t^ot tn Sbx Wiilliam ISroUfflage'f aliMiicf 
{Uinqt 10 seare0 otoas in t(e toam) 0tlf 
marrielr a toeU) itt Jbr Qaailliam retominge 
from t|e toarts came in a Valmert iahit anuM 
ng0t t|e 9oore to |ag1$e. i29i(o to^en 0tle mId I^ 
congetrtnge ttjat 'it fahimttt! (er former 
tu0ban]i toeyt for totitl % fit tia%tit^ (er 
at toict Ibr oaatlltam toent anil maHe l)tm 0el(^ 
Snatone to (is Cennants in tocift tyaee tite fit 
tun. fiut neare to ^etoton Vatfce j^r 0® illiam ouer« 
toote (im ann tine tint Ct< Mill IBante 
iiS^II teas eniosneDr ts t^ ronfMor to 
^e Vennantnt ts going onest enerfi toeeft 
tarefout ann fiare leggH to a Crosw ner iBigan 
from tie flagi^e toile^t %%t linen k is called 
fiRahh i to t(i0 Iras : 1^ t|er monument l^ses 
in totgan Cfinreli as fion tee tbtt 9ortflr 

An: Som: ISlK. 



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10 INTRODUCTION 10 

There were many vestiges around Haighhalli both of the 
Catholic penances of the Lady Mabel, and the histcnry of this 
unfortnnate transaction in particular ; the whole history was 
within the memory of man portrayed npon a glass window in 
the hall, where unfortunately it has not been preserved. Mab'a 
Cross is still extant An old ruinous buUding is said to have 
been the place where the Lady Mabel was condemned to render 
penance, by walking hither from Haighhall barefooted and bare- 
legged for the performance of her devotions. This relic, to 
which an anecdote so curious is annexed, is now unfortunately 
ruinous. Time and whitewash, says Mr Roby, have altogether 
defaced the effigies of the knight and bidy on the tomb. The 
particulars are preserved in Mr Roby*8 Traditions of Lancap 
shire,* to which the reader is referred for farther particulars. 
It does not appear that Sir William Bradshaigh was irreparably 
offended against the too hasty Lady Mabel, although he certainly 
shewed himself of a more fiery mould than the Scottish and 
German barons who were heroes of the former tales. The 
tradition, which the author knew very early in life, was told to 
him by the late Lady Balcarras. He was so much struck with 
it, that being at that time profuse of legendary lore, he inserted 
it in the shape of a note to Waverley,t the first of his romantic 
offences. Had he then known, as he now does, the value of 
such a story, it is likely that, as directed in the inimitable receipt 
for making an epic poem, preserved in the Guardian, he would 
have kept it for some future opportunity. 

As, however, the tale had not been completely told, and was a 
very interesting one, and as it was sufficiently interwoven with 
the Crusades, the wars between the Welsh and the Norman lords 
of the Marches was selected as a period when all freedoms might 
be taken with the strict truth of history without encountering any 
well known fact, which might render the narrative improbable. 
Perhaps, however, the period which vindicates the probability of 
the tale, will, with its wars and murders, be best found described 
in the following passage of Gryffyth Ap Edwin's wars. 

^ This prince in conjunction with Algar, Earl of Chester, who 
had been banished from England as a traitor, in the reign of 

* A very elegant work, 2 toIs. 1829. By J. Roby, M.R.6.I. 
t Waverley, present edition, p. 71 1 and note ▲. 



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THE BETBOTHED. 11 

Sdward lihe Confessor, marched into Herefordshire and wasted 
all that fertile country with fire and sword, to revenge the death 
of his brother Rhees, whose head had been brought to Edward 
in porsaanoe of an order sent hy the King on accoont of the 
depredations which he had committed against the English on the 
borders. To stop these ravages the Earl of Hereford, who was 
nephew to Edward, advanced with an army, not of English alone, 
but of mercenary Normans and French, whom he had enter* 
tained in his service, against Gryffyth and Algar. Hb met them 
near Hereford, and offered them battle, which the Wdch monarch, 
who had won five pitched battles before, and never had fought 
without conquering, joyfully accepted. The eari had commanded 
his English forces to fight on horseback, in imitation of the Nor^ 
mans, against their usual custom; but the Welsh making a 
furious and desperate charge, that nobleman himself, and the 
foreign cavalry led by him, were so daunted at the view of them, 
that they shamefully fled without fighting ; which being seen by 
the English, they also turned their backs on the enemy, who, 
having killed or wounded as many of them as they could oome 
up with in their .flight, entered triumphantly into Hereford, 
qpoiled and fired the city, razed the walls to the ground, slaugh* 
tered some of the citizens, led many of them captive, and (to use 
the words of the Welsh Chronicle) left nothing in the town but 
blood and ashes. After this exploit they immediately returned 
into Wales, undoubtedly from a desire of securing their prisoners, 
and the rich plunder they had gained. The King of England 
hereupon commanded Earl Harold to collect a great army from 
all parts of the kingdom, and assembling them at Gloucester, 
advanced from thence to invade the dominions of Gryffyth in 
North Wales. He performed his orders, and penetrated into that 
country without resistance from the Welsh ; Gryffyth and Algar 
returning into some parts of South Wales. What were their 
reasons for this conduct we are not well informed ; nor why 
Harold did not pursue his advantage against them ; but it 
appears that he thought it more advisable at this time to treat 
with, than subdue, them ; for.he left North Wales, and employed 
himself in rebuilding the walls of Hereford, while negotiations 
were carrying on with Gryffyth which soon after produced the 
restoration of Algar, and a peace with that Idnsi, ^ot very honour* 



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12 INTHODUCnON TO THE BETROTHED. 

able to England, as he made no satisfaction for the mischief he 
had done in the war, nor any submissions to Edward. Harold 
must doubtless have had some private and forcible motives to 
oonclude such a treaty. The very next year the Welsh 
monarch, upon what quarrel we know not, made a new incursion 
into EIngland, and killed the Bishop of Hereford, the Sheriff of 
the counly, and many more of the English, both ecclesiiistics 
and laymen. Edward was counselled by Harold, and Lecifrick, 
Earl of Mercia, to make peace with him again ; which he again 
broke: nor could he be restrained by any means, from these bar- 
barous inroads, before the year one thousand and sixty-three ; 
when Edward, whose patience and pacific disposition had been 
too much abused, commissioned Harold to assemble the whole 
strength of the kingdom, and make war upon him in his own 
eountry till he had subdued or destroyed him. That general 
acted so vigorously, and with so much celerity, that he had like 
to have surprised him in his palace : but just before the English 
forces arrived at his gate, having notice of the danger that 
threatened him, and seeing no other means of safety, he threw 
himself with a few of his household into one of his ships which 
happened at the instant to be ready to sail and put to sea."— 
LTTTBLTOif's Htit* of England, vol. ii. p. 888. 

This passage will be found to bear a general resembknee to 
the fictitious tale told in the Romance. 



ABBOTsroRO, UtJum, 1898. 



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INTRODUCTION. 



MINUTES 

AP SKDB&Uirr OF A OBNEIUL MSBTIIfQ OF THB 8HARBH0LDBB8 
DESIONIIfO TO FOKM ▲ JOINT-STOCK COMPANT, UNITED FOB THB 
PUBPOSB OF WAITING AND PUBUSHINQ THB CLASS OF WOBKS 
CALLED THB WATEBLET NOTELS, 

HELD 

IN THB WATEBLOO TATB&N, BBGENT'S BBIDOB, 

EdMmrffh, Ut Jwte, 188S. 



[Thb reader most ha,yn remariced» that the Tarioni editiont of the proceedings 
Bt thit meeting were giren in th<) public papers with rather more than unial 
inaeciinu^. The caoae of this was no 01-timed delicaey on the part of the 
geotlemen of tiie press to assert their privilege of uniTersal presence where- 
eTer a few are met together, and to commit to the public prints whatever 
may then and there pass of the most private nature. But very unusual and 
arbitraiy methods were resorted io on the present occasion to prevent the 
reporters using a right which is generally conceded to them by almost all 

' meetings, whether of a political or conunercial description. Our own re> 
porter, indeed, was bold enough to secrete himself under the Secretary's 
table, apd was not discovered tUl the meeting was well-nigh over. We are 
•orry to say, he suffered much in person from fists and toes, and two or 
three principal pages were torn out of his note-book, which occasions hia 
report to break off abruptly. We cannot but consider this behaviour as 
more particulariy Illiberal on the part of men who Me themselves a kind of 

- gentlemen of the press ; and they oug^t to consider themselves as fortimate 
that the misused reporter has sought no other vengeance tlian from the tone 
of acidity witii wiiich he has seasoned his account of their proceedings. — 
Edinburgh Ifewtpt^perJ] 



A MRBTINO of the gentlemen and others interested in the cele- 
brated publications called the Waveriey NoYels, having been 
called by public advertiseinent, the same was respectably attended 



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14 INTRODUCTION. 

by various literary characters of eminence. And it being in ih« 
first place understood that individuals were to be denominated 
by the names assigned to them in the publications in question, 
the Eidolon, or image of the author, was unanimously called to 
the chaur, and Jonathan Oldbuck, Esq. of Monkbarns, was re- 
quested to act as Secretary* 

The Preses -then addressed the meeting to the following pur- 
pose : — 

^ Gentlemen, 

** I need scarcely remind you, that we have a joint interest in 
the valuable property which has accumulated under our conuuon 
labours. While the public have been idly engaged in ascribing 
to one individual or another the immense mass of various matter, 
which the labours of many had accumulated, you, gentlemen, 
well know, that every person in this numerous assembly has had 
his share in the honours and profits of our common success. It 
is, indeed, to me a mystery, how the sharp-sighted could suppose 
80 huge a mass of sense and nonsense, jest and earnest, humo- 
rous and pathetic, good, bad, and indifferent, amounting to 
scores of volumes, could be tiie work of one hand, when we 
know the doctrine so well hud down by the immortal Adam 
Smith, concerning the division of labour. Were those who en- 
tertained an opinion so strange, not wise enough to know, that 
it requires twenty pairs of hands to make a thing so trifling $» 
a pin — twenty couple of dogs to kill an animal so insignificant 
as a fox 1 " 

^ Hout, man !" said a stout countryman, ^ I have a grew- 
bitch at hame will worry the best tod in Pomoragraina, before ye 
could say. Dumpling." 

« Who is that person V* said the Pireses, with some warmt]i,a8 
it appeared to us. 

<< A son of Dandy Dinmonf s," answered the unabashed rustie. 
^Grod, ye may mind him, I tiiink ! — ane o' the best in your 
aught, I reckon. And, ye see, I am come into the farm, and 
maybe something mair, and a wheen shares in this buik-trade of 
yours." 

« Well, well," replied the Preses, ** peace, I pray thee, peace. 
Gentlemen, when thus interrupted, I was on the point of intro- 
ducing the business of this meeting, being, as is known to meet 
of you, the discussion of a proposition now on your table, which 
I myself had the honour to suggest at hist meeting, namely^ that 



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INTRODUCnOlf. 15 

TTe do apt^ to the Legislature for an Act of Pariiameiit in ordi- 
nary, to aBsociate us into a corporate body, and gire ns a jwaoal 
§Umdi injudiciOf with full power to prosecute and bring to con- 
▼iction all encroachen upon our exclusive privilege, in the 
maaner therein to be made and provided. In a letter from the 
ingenious Mr Dousterswivel which I have received " 

(Hdbuck, warmly — ''I object to that fellow's name bemg 
mentioned ; he is a common swindler." 

^ For shame, Mr Oldbuck," said the Preees, <* to use such 
terms respecting the ingenious inventor of the great patent 
machine erected at Groningen, where they put in raw hemp at 
one end, and take out ruffled shirts at the other, without the aid 
of hackle or rippling-oomb — loom, shuttle, or weaver — sctssorsy 
needle, or seamstress. He had just completed it, by the additi<m 
of a piece of madiinery to perform the work of the laundress ; 
but when it was exhibited before his honour the burgomaster, it 
had the inconvenience of heating the smoothing-irons red-hot ; 
excepting which, the experiment was entirely satisfactory. He 
will become as rich as a Jew." 

« Well," added Mr Oldbuck, *« if the scoundrel " 

^ Scoundrel, Mr Oldbuck," said the Preses, ^ is a most un- 
seemly expression, and I must call you to order. Mr Douster* 
swivel is only an eccentric genius." 

^ Pretty much the same in the Greek," muttered Mr Oldbuck ; 
and then said aloud, ^and if this eccentric genius has worlr 
enough in singeing the Dutchman's Unen, what the devil has be 
to do here I" 

** Why, he is of opinion, that at ihe expense of a little me- 
chanism, some part of the labour of composing these novels 
might be saved by the use of steam." 

There was a murmur of disapprobation at this proposal, and 
file words, *^ Blown up," and ** Bread taken out of our mouths," 
and ^ They might as well construct a steam parson," were whis- 
pered. And it was not without repeated calls to order, that the 
-Preses obtained an opportunity of resuming his address. 

** Order ! — Order I Pray, support the chair. Hear, hear, 
hear the chair I" 

** Gentlemen, it is to be premised, that this mechanical ope- 
ration can only apply to those parts of the narrative which are 
at present composed out of commonplaces, such as the love- 
vpeecbes of the hero, the description of the heroine's person, 
tbe moral observations of all sorts, and the distribution of hap- 



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16 INTRODUCTION, 

pinesfl at the conclusion of the piece. Mr Doustenwivel has 
sent me some drawings, which go far to shew, that by placing 
the words and phrases technically employed on these subjects, 
in a sort of framework, like that of the Sage of Laputa, and 
changing them by such a mechanical process as that by which 
weavers of damadi alter their patterns, many new and happy 
eombinations cannot fail to occur, while the author, tired of 
pumping his own brains, may have an agreeable relaxation in 
the use of his fingers.'' 

"1 speak for information, Mr Preses,'' said the Rev. Mr 
Lawrence Templeton ; ^ but I am inclined to suppose the late 
publication of Walladmor to have been the work of Doustw- 
ewivel, by the help of the steam-engine.'** 

" For shame, Mr Templeton,** said the Preses ; " there are 
igood things in WaUadmor, I assure you, had the writer known 
any thing about the country in which he laid the scene.*' 

'* Or had he had the wit, like some of ourselves, to lay the 
]Bcene in such a remote or distant country that nobody should be 
able to backHspeerf him," said Mr Oldbuck. 

" Why, as to that," said the Preses, ^< you must consider the 
thing was got up for the German market, where folks are no 
better judges oi Welsh manners than of Welsh crw.**:{: 

^ I make it my prayer that this be not found the tanlt of our 
own next venture," said Dr Dryasdust, pointing to some books 
which lay on the table. ^ I fear the manners expressed in that 
^ Betrothed* of ours, will scarce meet the approbation of the 
Cynunerodion ; I could have wished that Llhuyd had been looked 
into — that Powel had been consulted — that Lewis's History had 
been quoted, the preliminary dissertations particularly, in order to 
give due weight to the work.** 

" Weight I" said Captain Clutterbuck ; * by my soul, it is heavy 
enough, already. Doctor." 

** Speak to the chair,** said the Preses, rather peevishly. 

** To the chair, then, I say it," said Captain Clutterbuck, ^ that 
' The Betrothed' is heavy enough to break down the chair of Johq 

* A. Romance, by the Author of Warerley, having been expected abont tiiis 
time at the groat commercial mart of literature, the Fair of Leipnc, an inge- 
nious gentleman of Germany finding that none such appeared, was so kind a^ 
to supply its place with a work, in three volumes, called Walladmor, to which 
Jie prefixed the Christian and surname at fuU length. The character oi this 
work la given with tolerable foimess in the text. 

t Scottish for cross-examine him. 

t The ale of the ancient British is called cruf in thefa* native hinguagt. 



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INTRODUCTION. 17 

«f G&ant, or Cador-Edris itself. I must add, however, that, in 
my poor mind, * The Talisman* goes more trippingly off." ♦ 

*^ It is not for me to speak," said the worthy minister of Saint 
Bonan's Well ; ^ but yet I must say, that being so long engaged 
upon the Siege of Ptolemais, my work ought to have been brought 
oat, humble though it be, before any other upon a similar sub- 
ject at least" 

* Your Siege, Parson I" sud Mr Oldbuck, with great contempt; 
^'will yon speak of your paltry prose-doings in my presence, 
whose great Historical Poem, in twenty books, with notes in 
proportion, has been postponed ad Gr<Boa$ KcUendcu V* 

The Preses, who appeared to suffer a great deal during this 
discussion, now spoke with dignity and determination. ^ Crentle- 
men," he said, <*ihis sort of discussion is highly irregular. 
There is a question before you, and to that, gentlemen, I must 
confine your attention. Priority of publication, let me remind 
you, gentlemen, is always referred to the Committee of Criticism, 
whose determination on such subjects is without appeal. I de- 
clare I will leave the chair, if any more extraneous matter be 
introduced. — And now, gentlemen, that we are once more in 
order, I would wish to have some gentleman speak upon the 
question, whether, as associated to carry on a joint-stock trade 
in fictitious narrative, in prose and verse,, we ought not to be 
incorporated by Act of Parliament ! What say you, gentlemen, 
to the proposal t Via vnita fortior, is an old and true adage." 

^ 8ooi€Uu maUr diaeordicirum, is a brocard as ancient and as 
veritable,'* said Oldbuck, who seemed determined, on this occasion, 
to be pleased with no proposal that was countenanced by the 
diair. 

''CcMne, Monkbams," said the Preses, in his most coaxing 
manner, ''you hate studied the monastic institutions deeply, and 
know there mnst be a union of persons and talents to do any 
thing respectable, and attidn a due ascendance over the spirit <^ 
the age. Tre$ faeiurU collegium — it takes three monks to make 
a convent." 

^ And nine tailors to make a man," replied Oldbuck, not in 
the least softened in his opposition ; <' a -quotation as much to the 
purpose as the other." 

«*Come, come,*' said the Preses, "you know the Prince of 

* This WM an opinion univenaUy entertidned among the frlendf of the 
author. 

VOL. XIX. B 



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18 IJfTKOD0CnO!f, 

Orange said to Mr Seymour, < Without an aasodatioDy we anii 
Pope of sand.' " 

^ T know," replied Oldbuck, ^ it would have been as seeml j 
that none of the dd leaven had been displayed on this occasion, 
though you be the author of a Jacobite novel. I know notliing 
Of the Prince of Orange after 1688 ; but I have heard a good 
deal of the immortal William the Third.'* 

''And to the best of my recollection," said Mr Templeton, 
whispering Oldbuck, ^ it was Seymour made the remark to the 
Prince, not the Prince to Seymour. But this is a specimen of 
our friend's accuracy, poor gentleman : He trusts too much to 
his memory ! of late years — failing fast, sir — breaking up." 
' "And breaking down too," said Mr Oldbuck. **But what 
can you expect of a man too fond of his own hasty and flashy 
compositions, to take the assistance of men of reading and of 
solid parts !" 

^< No whispering — no caballing — no private busuaess, gentle- 
men," said the unfortunate Preses, — who reminded us somewhat 
of a Highland drover, engaged in gathering and keeping in the 
straight road his excursive black cattle. 

'^ I have not yet heard," he continued, '' a single reasonable 
objection to applying for the Act of Parliament, of which the 
draught lies on the table. You must be aware that the extremes 
of rude and of civilized society are, in these our days, on the point 
of approaching to each other. . In the patriarchal period, a man 
is his own weaver, tailor, butcher, shoemaker, and so forth ; and, 
in the age of Stock'Companies, as the present may be called, an 
individual may be said, in one sense, to exercise the same plurality 
of trades. In fact, a man who has dipt largely into these specu- 
lations, may combine his own expenditure with the improvement 
of his own income, just like the ingenious hydraulic machine, 
which, by its very waste, raises its own supplies of water. Such a 
person buys his bread from his own Baking Company^ his milk and 
cheese from his own Dairy Company, takes off a new coat for the 
benefit of his own Clothing Company, illuminates his house to 
advance his own Gas Establishment, and drinks an additional 
bottle of wine for the benefit of the General Wind Importation 
Company, of which he is himself a member. Every act, which 
would othenvise be one of mere extravagance, is, to such a 
person, seasoned witli the odor luori, and reconciled to prudence. 
Even if tlie price of the article consumed be extravagant, and 
the quality indifferent, the person, who is in a manner his own 



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INTBODUCTIOlf. 19 

Mistomer, is only imposed upon for his own benefit. Nay, if the 
Mnt-stoek Company of Undertakers shall unite with the Medical 

Faculty, as proposed by the late facetious Doctor G , under 

the firm of Death and the Doctor, the shareholder might contrive 
to secure to his heu's a haudsome slice of his own death-bed and 
fon^ral expenses. In short, Stock-Companies are the &shion of 
the age, and an Incorporating Act will, I think, be particuUrly 
useful in bringing back the body, over whom I have the honour 
to preside, to a spirit of subordination, highly necessary to success 
in every en(eri>rise where joint wisdom, talent, and labour, are to 
be employed. It is with regret that I state, that, besides several 
differences amongst yourselves, I have not myself for some time 
been treated with that deference among you which drcumstances 
entitled me to expect" 

** Hinc UlcB lachrynuB,*' muttered Mr Oldbuck. 

''But," c(nitinued the Chauman, ''I see other gentlemen 
impatient to deliver their opinions, and I desure to stand in no 
man's way. I therefore — my phice in this chair forbidding me 
to originate the motioii — beg some gentleman may move a com- 
mittee for revising the draught of the bill now upon the table, 
and which has been duly circulated among those having interest, 
and take the necessary measures to bring it before Ihe House 
early next session." 

There was a short murmur in the meeting, and at length Mr 
Oldbuck again rose. ^It seems, sur," he said addressing the 
duur, ^ that no one present is wflling to make the motion you 
p<Mnt at. I am sorry no more qualified person has taken upon 
Inm to shew any reasons in the contrair, and that it has &llen on 
me, as we Scotsmen say, to bell-the-cat with you ; anent whilk 
l>hrBse9 Pitscottie hath a pleasant jest of the great Earl of 



Here a gentleman whispered to the speaker, ^ Have a care of 
Hl^cottie !" and Mr Oldbuck, as if taking the hmt went on. 

^ But that's neither here nor there — Well, gentlemen, to be 
«hort, I think it unnecessary to enter into the general reasoniugs 
whilk have this day been ddivered, as I may say, ex cathedra ; 
nor will I charge our worthy Preses with an attempt to obtain 
over xiBjper ambages, and under colour of an Act of Parliament, 
A demotic authority, inconsistent with our freedom. But this 
I will say, that times are so much changed above stairs, that 
w heroao last year you might have obtained an act incorporating 
• Stoek Company for riddling ashes, you will not be able to pru- 



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SsU INTRODUCTION. 

eore one this year for gathering pearls. What signifies, the% 
wasting the tune of the meeting, by inquiring whether or not w 
ought to go in at a door which we know to be bolted and barred in 
our face, and in the face of all the companies for fire or air, land 
or water, which we have of late seen blighted I" 

Here there was a general clamour, seemingly of approbation^ 
in which the words might be distinguished, ^ Nieedlessto think of 
it'* — "Money thrown away" — "Lost before the committee," 
&c. &c. &c. But above the tumult, the roices of two gentle- 
men, in different comers of the room, answered each other clear 
and loud, like the blows of the two figures on Saint Dunstan's 
clock ; and although the Chairman, in much agitation, endea- 
voured to silence them, his interruption had only the effect of 
cutting their words up into syllables, thus, — 

Firtt Voice, *< The Lord Chan — " 

Second Voice, « The Lord Lau *' 

Chairman, {loudly,) " Scandalum magnatum V 

Firtt Voice, « The Lord Chancel " 

Second Voice. *« The Lord Lauder ^ 

Chairman, {louder yet,) " Breach of Privilege I'* 

Firtt Voice, « The Lord Chancellor—" 

Second Voice. « My Lord Lauderdale '' 

Chairman^ {at the highest pitch of hi$ woice.) ^ Called before the 
House !" 

Both Voice$ together. « Will never consent to audi a bill." 

A general assent seemed to follow this last proposition, wludi 
was propounded with as much emphasis as could be eontributed 
by the united clappers of the whole meeting, joined to those of 
the voices already mentioned. 

Several persons present seemed to consider the businesB of the 
meeting as ended, and were beginning to handle their hats and 
canes, with a view to departure, when the Chairman^ who had 
thrown himself back in his chair, with an air of manifest morti- 
fication and displeasure, again drew himself up, and commanded 
attention. All stopped, though some shrugged theur shouldersy 
as if under the predominating influence of what is called a bort* 
But the tenor of his discourse soon excited anxious attention. 

" I perceive, gentlemen," he said, *^ that you are like the young 
birds, who are impatient to leave their mother's nest — take care 
your own pen-feathers are strong enough to support yon ; since, 
swi lor my part, I am tired of supporting on my wing such a set 
of ungrateful gulls. But it ugnifies nothing speaking — I will no 



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INTRODUCTION. 21 

loiter avail myself of such weak ministers as yon — I will dis- 
card you — I will mibeget yon, as Sir Anthony Absolute says — 
I will leave you and your whole hacked stock in trade — your 
eayems and your castles — your modem antiques, and your 
antiquated modems — your confusion of times, manners, and 
circnmstances — your properties, as player-folk say of scenery 
and dresses — the whole of your exhausted expedients, to the 
fools who choose to deal with them. I will vindicate my own 
£une widi my own right hand, without appealing to such halting 
aasistantSy 

' Whom I hETe med ftnr sport, rather than need.' 

—I will lay my foundations better than on quicksands — I will 
rear my structure of better materials than painted cards ; in a 
word, I will write Histobt I" 

There was a tumult of surprise, amid which our reporter 
detected the following expressions : — " The devil you will ! " — 
** You, my dear ar, you ?" — ** The old gentleman forgets that he 
b the greatest liar since Sir John Mandeville." 

^Not the worse historian for that," said Oldbuck, << since 
history, you know, is half fiction." 

^ I ^ answer for that half being forthcoming," said the former 
epeaker ; ^ but for the scantling of truth which is necessary after 
all. Lord help us ! — Geoffrey of Monmouth will be Lord Claren- 
don to him." 

As the confusion began to abate, more than one member of 
the meeting was seen to touch his forehead significantly, while 
CSaptain Clutterbuck humm'd. 

Be by your Mends advised. 
Too rash, too hasty, dad, 
Blaagre your bolts and wise head. 
The woild will think you mad. 

^ The world, and you, gentlemen, may think what you please," 
said the Giairman, elevating his voice ; ^ but I intend to write 
tiie most wonderful book which the world ever read — a book in 
which every incident shall be incredible, yet strictly true — a 
work recalling recollections with which the ears of this genera- 
tion once tingled, and which shall be read by our children with 
an admiration approaching to incredulity. Such shall be the Lifb 
«F Napoleon Buonaparte, by the Author of Waverley I" 

In the general start and exclamation which followed this 
•imimeiation, Mr Oldbuck dropped his snuff-box; and the 



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22 INTRODUCTION. 

Scottish rappee, which dispersed itself in conseqnenoe, Imd 
effects upon the nasal organs of our reporter, ensconced as he 
was under the secretary's table, which occasioned his being dia* 
covered and extruded in the illiberal and unhandsome manner 
we have mentioned, with threats of further damage to his none, 
ears, and other portions of his body, on the part especially of 
Captain Outterbuck. Undismayed by these threats, which 
indeed those of his profession are accustomed to hold at defiance, 
our young man hovered about the door of the tavern, but could 
only bring us the £Etrther intelligence, that the meeting had 
broken up in about a quarter of an hour alter his espolsion, *< ia 
much-admired disorder." 



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TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 

TALE L 
THE BETROTHED. 

CHAPTER I. 

Now in tbeae dagret ivere botte mun upon the Ifarches of Wales. 

Lkwis's HiHorp, 

Thb Chronicles, from which this narrative is extracted, assure 
B9, that daring the long period when the Welsh princes maintained 
their independence, the year 1187 was peculiarly marked as 
Cftvonrahle to peace betwixt them and their warlike neighbours, 
the Lords Marchers, who inhabited those formidable castles on 
the frontiers of the ancient British, on the ruins of which the 
traveller gazes with wonder. This was the time when Baldwin, 
Archbishop of Canterbury, accompanied by the learned Guraldua 
de Bani, afterwards Bishop of Saint David's, preached the Crusade 
from castle to castle, from town to town ; awakened the inmost 
valleys of bis native Cambria with the call to arms for recovery 
of the Holy Sepulchre ; and, while he deprecated the feuds and 
wars of Christian men against each other, held out to the martial 
spirit of the age a general object of auibition, and a scene uf 
adventure, where the favour of Heaven, as well as earthly 
rsBown, was to reward the successful champions. 

Yet the British chieftains, amon? the thousands whom this 
spirit-stirring summons called from their native land to a distant 
and perilous expedition, had perhaps the best excuse for declining 
Ae summons. The superior skill of the Annlo-Norman knight^ 
Hiio were engaged in constant inroads on the Welsh frontier|aii4 

, Digitized by LjOOQ IC 



24 TALES OF THE CBUSADERS. 

who were frequently detaching from it large portions, which they 
fortified with castles, thus making good what they had won, was 
avenged, indeed, hut not compensated, hy the furious inroads of 
the British, who, like the hillows of a retiring tide, rolled on 
successively, with noise, fury, and devastation ; hut, on each re- 
treat, yielded ground insensibly to their invaders. 

A union among the native princes might have opposed a strong 
and permanent barrier to the encroachments of ike strangers ; 
but they were, unhappily, as much at diso(»rd among themselves 
as they were with the Normans, and wer© constantly engaged in 
privati^ war with each other, of which the oonmion enemy Imd the 
sole advantage. 

Tlie invitation to the Crusade promised something at least of 
novelty to a nation peculiarly ardent in their temper ; and it was 
accepted by many, regardless of the consequences which must 
ensue to the country which they left defenceless. Even the most 
celebrated enemies of the Saxon and Norman race laid aside their 
enmity against the invaders of theur country, to enrol themselves 
under the banners of the Crusade. 

Amongst these was reckoned Gwenwyn, (or more properly 
Owen wyn wen, though we retain the briefer appellative,^ a British 
prince who continued exercising a precarious sovereignty over 
such parts of Powys-Land as Imd not been subjugated by the 
Mortimers, Guarines, Latimers, FitzAlans, and other Norman 
nobles, who, under various pretexts, and sometimes contemning 
all otlier save the open avowal of superior force, had severed and 
appropriated large portions of that once extensive and independent 
principality, which, when Wales was unhappily divided into three 
parts on the death of Roderick Mawr, fell to the lot of his youngest 
son, Mervyn. The undaunted resolution and stubborn ferocity of 
Gwenwyn, descendant of that prince, had long made him beloved 
among the ^ Tall men," or Champions of Wales ; and he was 
enabled, more by the number of those who served under him, 
attracted by his reputation, than by the natural strength of his 
dilapidated principaUty, to retaliate the encroachments of the 
English by the most wasteful inroads. 

Yet even Gwenwyn on the present occasion seemed to foreet 
his deeply sworn hatred against his dangerous neighbours. The 
Torch of rengwem (for so Gwenwyn was called, from his frequently 
laying the province of Shrewsbury in conflagration) seemed at 
present to bum as calmly as a taper in the bower of a lady ; and 
the Wolf of Plinlimmon, another name with which the bards had 
graced Gwenwyn, now slumbered as peacefully as the shepherd's 
dog on the domestic hearth. 

But it was not alone the eloquence of Baldwin or of Girald 
which had lulled into peace a spirit so restless and fierce. It is 
true, their exhortations had done more towards it than Gwenwyn*s 
followers had thought possible. The Archbishop had induced the 
British Chief to break bread, and to mingle in silvan sports^ with 



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TALE 1. THE BETROTHED. 



25 



III nearest, and hitherto one of his most determined enemies, the 
iffdi Norman warrior Sir Raymond Berenger, who, sometimes 
liltKlen, sometimes victorious, but never subdued, had, in spite of 
tt«p«nwjn's hottest incursions, maintained his Castle of Crarde 
9|sio«ireuse, upon the marches of Wales ; a place strong by 
and well fortified by art, which the Welsh prince had 



4bSBd it impossible to conquer, either ty open force or by strata- 
, and which, remaining with a strong garrison in his rear. 






I checked his incursions, by rendering his retreat precarious. 
V 0a tMs account, Gwenwyn of Powys-Land had an hundred 
^femes vowed the death of Raymond Berenger, and the demolition 
^ItiiB castle ; but the policy of the sagacious old warrior, and his 
r experience in all warUke practice, were such as, with the aid 
S more powerful countrymen, enabled him to defy the attempts 
( fiery neighbour. If there was a man, therefore, throughout 
nd, whom Gwenwyn hated more than another, it was Ray- 
Berenger ; and yet the good Archbishop Baldwin could 
jiijl^ail on the Welsh prince to meet him as a mend and ally in 
VH cause of the Cross. He even invited Raymond to the autumn 
^feilhrities of his Welsh palace, where the old knight, in all 
iKttmirakle courtesy, feasted and hunted for more than a week in 
^ i dominions of his hereditary foe. 

requite this hospitahty, Raymond invited the Prince of 

«, with a chosen but limited train, during the ensuing Christ* 

' t(> the Grarde Doloureuse, which some antiquaries have 

1 to identify with the Castle of Colune, on the river of 

i name. But the length of time, and some geographical 

8, throw doubts upon this ingenious conjecture. 

i Welshman crossed the drawbridge, he was observed by 

i^#ttthfal bard to shudder with involuntary emotion ; nor did 

ftfmllon, experienced as he was in life, and well acquainted with 

biiiaracter pf his master, make any doubt that he was at that 

^tmoi strongly urged by the apparent opportunity, to seize upon 

iJglRmg fortress which had been so long the object of his cupi- 

en at the expense of violating his good faith. 

Jling lest the struggle of his master's conscience and his 

on should terminate unfavourably for his fame, the bard 

id his attention by whispering in their native language, that 

I leeth which bite hardest are those which are out of sight ;" 

i 0wenwyn looking around him, became aware that, though 

V «auirmed squires and pages appeared in the court-yard, yet 

^ers and battlements connecting them were garnished with 

I and men-at-arms. 

proceeded to the banquet, at which Gwenwyn, for the 

9f beheld Eveline Berenger, the sole child of the Norman 

e, the inheritor of his domains and of his supposed wealth, 

r nxteeif, and the most beautiful damsel upon the Welsh 

Many a spear had already been shivered in main* 

f her charms i and the gallant Hugo de Lacy, Constable 



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26 TALES OF THB CR08ADBB8. 

of Chester, one of the most redoubted warriors of the tune, had 
hud at Eveline's feet the prize which his chivahry had giuued iu 
a great tournament held near that ancient town. Gwenwyn 
considered these triumphs as so many additional recommendations 
to Eveline ; her beauty was incontestable, and she was heiress of 
the fortress which he so much longed to possess, and which he 
began now to think might be acquired by means more smooth than 
those with which he was in the use of working out his wilL 

Again, the hatred which subsisted between the British and their 
Saxon and Norman invaders ; his long and ill-extinguished feud 
with this very Raymond Berenger ; a general recollection that 
alliances between tiie Welsh and English had rarely been happy ; 
and a consciousness that the measure which he meditated would 
be unpopular among his followers, and appear a dereliction of the 
systematic principle on which he had hitherto acted, restrained 
him from speaking his wishes to Raymond or his daughter. Thd 
idea of the rejection of his suit did not for a inoment occur to 
him ; he was convinced he had but to speak his wishes, and that 
the daughter of a Norman castelUne, whose rank or power were 
not of the highest order among the nobles of the frontiers, must 
be ddighted and honoured by a proposal for allying his family 
with tlmt of the sovereign of a hundred mountains. 

There was indeed another objection, which in later times would 
have been of considerable weight — Gwenwyn was already 
married. But Brengwain was a childless bride ; sovereigns (and 
among sovereigns the Welsh prince ranked himself) marry for 
lineage, and the Pope was not likely to be scrupulous, where the 
question was to obUge a prince who had assumed the Cross with 
such ready zeal, even although, in &ct, his thoughts had been 
much more on Uie Garde Doloureuse than on Jerusalem. In the 
meanwhile, if Raymond Berenger (as was suspected) was not 
liberal enough in his opinions to permit Eveline to hold the 
. temporary rank of concubine, which the manners of Wales war- 
ranted Gwenwyn to offer as an interim arrangraient, he had 
only to wait for a few months, and sue for a divorce through 
the Bishop of Saint David's, or some other interoessor at the 
Court of Rome. 

Agitating these thoughts in his mind, Gwenwyn prolonged his 
residence at the Castle of Berenger, from Christmas till Twelfth* 
day ; and endured the presence of the Norman cavaliers who 
resorted to Ra^'mond's festal halls, although, regarding themselves, 
in virtue of their rank of knighthood, equial to the most potent 
sovereigns, they made small account of the lon^ descent of the 
Welsh prince, who, in their eyes, was but the chief of a semibar* 
barous province ; while he, on his part, considered them UtUe 
better than a sort of privileged robbers, and with the utmost 
difficulty restrained himself from manifesting^hia open hatred, 
when he beheld them careering in the exercises of cbivalry, the 
habitual ude of which rendered them such formidaUe enemies to 



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TALB I. THK BKTBOTHBIK 27 

his emmtty. At length, the term of feastiiig wm ended, and 
knight and squire deputed from the castle, which once more 
sasuned the aspect of a solitary and guarded frontier fort 

Bot the Frinoe of Powys-LEund, while porsoing his sports on 
his own mountains and yalleys, found that even the abondance of 
the game, as well as his release from the society of the Norman 
chivalry, who affected to treat him as an equal, profited him no* 
thing, so long as the light and beautiful form of Eveline, on her 
white palfrey, was banished from the train of sportsmen. In short, 
he hesitated no lon^^er, but took into his confidence his chaphun, 
an able and sagacious man, whose pride was flattered by his 
patron^s communication, and who, besides, saw in the proposed 
Kcheme some contingent advantages for himself and his order. 
By his counsel, the proceedings for Gwenwyn's diyoroe were pro- 
secuted under favourable auspices, and the unfortunate Brengwain 
was removed to a nunnery, which perhaps she found a more 
cheerful habitation than the k>nely retreat in which she had led a 
neglected life, ever since Gwenwyn had despaired of her bed bein^ 
blessed with issue. Fatiier Einion also dealt with the chiefe and 
elders of the laud, and represented to them the advantage 
which in future wars they were certain to obtain by the posses- 
sion of the Garde Doloureuse, which had for more thiin a century 
covered and protected a considerable tract of country, rendered 
their advance difficult, and their retreat perilous, and, in a word, 
raevented their carrying tiieir incursions as far as the gates of 
Shrewsbury. As for the union with the Saxon damsel, the fetters 
which it was to form might not (the good &iher hinted) be found 
more permanent than those which 1^ bound Gwenwyn to her 
|nedeoessor, Brengwain. 

These arguments, mingled with others adapted to the views 
and wishes of different individuals, were so prevailing, that the 
du^lain in the course of a few weeks was Me to report to his 
inincdy patron, that his proposed match would meet with no 
opposition from the elders and nobles of his dominions. A golden 
bracelet, six ounces in weight, was the instant reward of the 
priest's dexterity in negotiation, and he was appointed by Gwen- 
wyn to commit to paper those proposals, which he doubted not 
were to throw the Ca^e of Garde Doloureuse, notwithstanding 
its melancholy name, into an ecstasy of joy. With some difficulty 
the diaplain prevailed on his patron to say nothing in this letter 
upon his temporary plan of concubinage, which he wisely judged 
might be considered as an afi^nt both by Eveline and her &t&r. 
The matter of the divorce he represented as almost entirely 
settled, and wound up his letter witii a moral application, in which 
were many allusions to Vashti, Esther, and Ahasuerus. 

Having despatched this letter by a swift and trusty messenger, 
the British prince opened in all solemnity the feast of Easter, 
whidi had come round during the course of these external and 
internal negotiations. 



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89 TALES OF THE CRUSADElUS. 

Upon the approaching Holy-tide, to propitiate the minds of his 
subjects and yassals, they were invited in large numbers to par- 
take a princely festivity at Castell-Coch, or the Bed Castle, as it 
was then called, since better known by the name of Powys-Castle, 
and in latter times the princely seat of ^e Duke of Beaufort 
The architectural magnificence of this noble residence is of a 
much hiter period than that of Gwenwyn, whose palace, at the 
time we speak of, was a long, low-roofed edifice of red stone 
whence the castle derived its name ; while a ditch and palisade 
were, in addition to the commandmg situation, its most important 
defences. 



CHAPTER II. 

In Madoc'8 tent the dnrion raunds, 

With rapid clangor hurried far ; 
Each hill and dnie the note rebounds. 

But when return the sons of war? 
Thou, "bom of stem Necessity, 
Dull Peace ! the valley yields to thee. 

And owns thy melancholysway. 

wash Poem. 

The feasts of the ancient British princes usually exhibited all 
the rude splendour and liberal indulgence of mountain hospitality, 
and Gwenwyn was, on the present occasion, anxious to purchase 
popularity by even an unusual display of profusion ; for he was 
sensible that the alliance which he meditated might indeed be 
tolerated, but could not be approved, by his subjects and fol- 
lowers. 

The following incident, trifling in itself, confirmed his appre- 
hensions. Passing one evening, when it was become nearly dark, 
by the open window of a guard-room, usually occupied by some 
few of his most celebrated soldiers, who relieved each other in 
watching his palace, he heard Morgan, a man distinguished for 
strength, courage, and ferocity, say to the companion with whom 
he was sitting by the watch-fire, " Gwenwyn is turned to a priest, 
or a woman I When was it before these last months, that a 
follower of his was obliged to gnaw the meat from the bone so 
closely, as I am now peeling tiie morsel which I hold in my 
hand!"* 

" Wait but a while," replied his comrade, ** till the Norman 
match be accomplished ; and so small will be the prey we shall 
then drive from the Saxon churls, that we may be glad to 
swallow, like hungry dogs, the very bones themselves." 

* It is said in Highland tradition, that one of the Mac<)ona1d8 of the Ides, 
who had suffered his broadsword to remain sheathed for some months after hii 
m^rria^ with a beautiful woman, was stirred to a sudden and furious expedition 
against the mainland, by bearing convenation to the above purpose among hit 
body>guanL 



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TALE I. THE BETBOTHED. 29 

Owenwyn heard no more of their oonversation ; but this was 
•noogh to alanii his pride as a soldier, and his jealousy as a 
prince. He was sensible, that the people over whom he ruled 
were at once fickle in their disposition, impatient of long repose, 
and full of hatred against their neighbours ; and he ahnost 
dreaded the consequences of the inactivity to which a long truce 
might reduce them. The risk was now incurred, however ; and 
to display even more than his wonted splendour and liberality, 
seemed tlie best way of reconciling the wavering affections of his 
subjects. 

A Norman would have despised the barbarous magnificence 
of an entertainment, consisting of kine and sheep roasted whole, 
of goats' flesh and deers' flesh seethed in the skins of the animals 
themselves ; for the Normans piqued themselves on the quality 
rather than the quantity of their food, and, eating rather deli- 
cately than largely, ridiculed the coarser taste of the Britons, 
although the l^t were in their banquets much more moderate 
than were the Saxons ; nor would the oceans of Cno and hydro- 
mel, which overwhelmed the guests like a deluge, have made up, 
in ^eir opinion, for the absence of the more elegant and costly 
beverage which they had learnt to love in the south of Europe. 
Milk, prepared in* various ways, was another material of the 
British entertainment, which would not have received their 
approbation, although a nutriment which, on ordinary occasions, 
often supplied the want of all others among the ancient inhabi- 
tants, whose country was rich in flocks ana berds, but poor in 
agricultural produce. 

The banquet was spread in a long low hall, built of roush wood 
lined with shingles, having a fire at each end, the smoke of which, 
unable to find its way through the imperfect chimneys in the 
roof, rolled in cloudy billows above the heads of the revellers, 
who sat on low seats, purposely to avoid its stifling fumes.* The 
mien and appearance of the company assembled was wild, and, 
even in their social hours, almost terrific Their prince himself 
had the gigantic port and fiery eye fitted to sway an unruly 
people, whose delight was in the field of battle ; and the long 
mustaches which he and most of his champions wore, added to 
the formidable dignity of his presence. Like most of those 
present, Gwenwyn was clad in a simple tunic of white linen doth, 
a remnant of the dress which the Romans had introduced into 
provincial Britain ; and he was distinguished by the Eudorchawg, 
or chain of twisted gold links, with which the Celtic tribes always 
decorated their chiefs. The collar, indeed, representing in form 
Che species of links made by children out of rushes, was common 

* The Welsh hoiwes, like those of the cognate tribes in Ireland and In the 
Hichlands of Scotland, were very hnperfectly supplied with chimneys. Heace, 
in the History of the Gwydir Fanuly, the strilcfaig expression of a Welsh chieftain, 
wlio, tlie house being assaulted and set on fire by liis enemies, exhorted hta 
friends to stand to their defence, saying be had seen as muoh smoke in the hail 
upon a flhristmai eren. 



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30 TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 

to chieftains of inferior rank, many of whom bore it In virtur of 
their birth, or had won it by military exploits ; bat a ring ol gukl, 
bent around the head, intenningled with Gwenwyn's luSr — for 
he claimed the rank of one of three diademed princes of Wales, 
and his arralela and anklets, of the same metal, were peculiar to 
the Prince of Powys, as an independent soTereigu. Two squires 
of his body, who dedicated their whole attention to his service, 
stood at the Prince's back ; and at bis feet sat a page, whose duty 
it was to keep them warm by chafing and by wrapping them in 
bis mantle. The same right of sovereignty, which assigned to 
Owenwyn his golden crownlet, gave him a title to the attendance 
of the foot-beuer, or youth, who lay on the rushes, and whose 
duty it was to cherish the Prince's feet in his lap or bosom.* 

Notwithstanding the military disposition of the guests, and the 
danger arising from the feuds into which they were divided, few 
of the feasters wore any defensive armour, except the light goat- 
skin buckler, which hung behind each man's seat. On the other 
hand, they were well provided with offensive weapons ; for the 
broad, sharp, short, two-edged sword was another legacy of the 
Romans. Most added a wood-knife or poniard ; and there were 
store of javelins, darts, bows, and arrows, pikes, halberds, Danish 
axes, and Welsh hooks and bills ; so, in case of ill-blood arising 
during the banquet, there was no lack of weapons to work 
mischief. 

But although the form of the feast was somewhat disorderly, 
«nd that the revellers were unrestrained by the stricter rules of 
good-breeding which the laws of chivalry imposed, the Easter 
banquet of Gwenwyn possessed, in the attendance of twelve 
•eminent bards, one source of tiie most exalted pleasure, in a 
much higher degree than the proud Normans could themselves 
boast. The latter, it is true, had their minstrels, a race of men 
trained to the profession of poetry, song, and music ; but although 
those arts were highly honoured, and the individtuU professors, 
when they attained to eminence, were often richly rewarded, and 
treated with distinction, the order of minstrels, as such, was held 
in low esteem, being composed chiefly of worthless and dissolute 
strollers, by whom tiie art was assumed, in order to escape from 
the necessity of labour, and to have the means of pursuing a 
wandering and dissipated course* of life. Such, in all times, has 
been the censure upon the calhng of those who dedicate them- 
selves to the public amusement ; among whom those distinguished 
bpr individual excellence are sometimes raised high in the social 
circle, while far the more numerous professors, who only reach 
mediocrity, are sunk into the lower scale. But such was not the 
,case with the order of bards in Wale«\ who, succeeding to the 
dignity of the Druids, under whom they had originally formed a 
subordinate fraternity, had many immunities, were held in th% 

« Sm Note A. Page qfa WOsh Princt, 

Digitized by CjOOQIC 



TALE r. THE BETROTHED. 81 

feigfaest reret^nce uid esteem, and exercised iniidi inflnenee with 
their coimtrymen. Their power over the poblie mind, eyen 
riTalled that of the priests themselves, to whom indeed they hore 
some resemblance ; for they never wore arms, were initiated into 
their order by secret and mystic solemnities, and homage was 
rendered to their Awm, or flow of poetic inspiration, as if it had 
bem Indeed marked with a divine cdiaracter. Thus possessed of 
power and consequence, the bards were not unwilling to exercise 
their privileges, and sometimes, in doing so, their manners 
fre quen tly savoured of caprice. 

This was perhaps the case with Cadwallon, the chief bard of 
Gwenwyn, and who, as such, was expected to have poured forth 
the tide of song in the banqueting-hall of his prince. But neither 
the anxious and breathless expectation of Uie assembled chiefs 
and champions — neither the dead nlence which stilled the roaring 
hall, when his harp was reverently placed before him by his 
attendant ^ nor even die commands or entreaties of the Prince 
himself — could extract from Cadwallon more than a short nnd 
interrupted prelude upon the instrument, the notes of which 
arranged themselves into an air inexpresmbly mournfal, and died 
away in silence. The Prince frowned darldy on the bard, who 
was himself far too deeply lost in gloomy thought, to offer any 
apology, or even to observe his displeasm-e. Again he touched a 
few wild notes, and, raising his looks upward, seemed to be on 
the very point of bursting forth into a tide of song similar to those 
with which this master of his art was wont to enchant his hearers. 
But the effort was in vain — he declared that his right hand was 
withered, and pushed the instrument from him. 

A murmur went round the company, and Gwenwyn read in 
th^ aspects that they received the unusual silence of Cadwallon 
on Una high occasion as a bad omen. He called hastily on a 
young and ambitious bard, named Caradoc of Menwygeut, whose 
rising fame was likely soon to vie witli the established reputation 
cf Cadwallon, and summoned him to sing something whidi might 
command the applause of his sovereign and the gratitude of the 
company. The young man was ambitious, and understood the 
arts of a courtier. He commenced a poem, in which, although 
under a feigned name, he drew such a poetic picture of Eveline 
Berenger, that Gwenwyn was enraptured ; and while all who had 
seen the beautiful (nriginal at once recognized the resemblance, 
the eyes of the Prince confessed at once his passion for the subject, 
and his admiration of the poet. The figures of Celtic poetry, in 
themselves highly imaginative, were scarce sufficient for the 
enthusiasm of the ambitious bard, rising in his tone as he perceived 
the feelings which he was exciting. The praises of the Prince 
mingled with those of the Norman beauly ; and ^ as a lion," said 
the poet, ^ can only be led by the hand of a chaste and beautiful 
maiden, so a chief can only acknowledge tlie empire of the most 
virtuous* the most k>vely of her sex. Who asks of the noon- 



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82 TALB6 OF THE CRUSADER8« 

day son, in what qnarter of the world he was bom ! and wbd 
shall ask of such channs as hers, to what country they owe their 
birth r 

Enthusiasts in pleasure as in war, and possessed of imaginations 
which answered readily to the summons of their poets, the WeMi 
chiefs and leaders united in acclamations of applause ; and the 
song of the bard went farther to render popular the intended 
alliance of the Prince, than had all the graver arguments of hii 
priestly precursor in the same topic. 

Gwenwyn himself in a transport of delight, tore off the golden 
bracelets which he wore, to bestow them upon a batd whose song 
had produced an effect so desirable ; and said, as he looked at the 
silent and sullen Cadwallon, ^ The silent harp was never strung ^ 
with golden wires." 

<< Prince,'' answered the bard, whose pride was at least equal 
to that of Gwenwyn himself; "you pervert the proverb of 
Taliessin — it is the flattering harp which never lacked golden 
strings." 

Gwenwyn, turning sternly towards him, was about to make an 
angry answer, when the sudden appearance of Jorworth, the 
messenger whom he had despatched to Raymond Berenger, 
arrested his purpose. This rude envov entered the hall bare- 
legged, excepting the sandals of goat-skin which he wore, and 
having on his shoulder a cloak of the same, and a short javelin 
in his hand. The dust on his garments, and the flush on hia 
brow, shewed with what hasty zeal his errand had been executed. 
Gwenwyn demanded of him eagerly, ''What news from Grarde 
Doloureuse, Jorworth ap Jevan V* 

^ I bear them in my bosom," said the son of Jevan ; and, with 
much reverence, he delivered to the Prince a packet, bound with 
silk, and sealed with the impression of a swan, the ancient cogni* 
zance of the House of Berenger. Himself ignorant of writing or 
reading, Gwenwyn, in anxious haste, delivered the letter to CeuI- 
wallon. Who usually acted as secretary when the chaplain was not 
in presence, as chanced then to be the case. Cadwallon, looking 
at the letter, said briefly, '' I read no Latin. Ill betide the Nor- 
man, who writes to a Prince of Powys in other language than 
that of Britain 1 and well was the hour, when that noble tongue 
alone was spoken from Tintadgel to Cairleoil !" 

Gwenwyn only replied to him with an angry glance. 

'' Where is Father Einion ?" said the impatient Prince. 

*^ He assists in the church," replied one of his attendants, *' for 
it is the feast of Saint " 

"Were it the feast of Saint David," said Gwenwyn, "and 
were the pyx between lus hands, he must come hither to me 
instandy !" 

One of the chief henchmen sprung off, to command his atten- 
dance, and, in the meantime, Gwenwyn eyed the letter containing 
^ secret of his fate, but which it required an interpreter to read, 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 33 

with siidi eagerness and anxiety, that Caradoc, elated by his 
farmer success, threw in a few notes to divert, if possible, the 
tenor of his patron's thoughts during the interval. A light and 
lively air, touched by a hand which seec^d to hesitate, like the 
submissive voice of an inferior, fearing to interrupt his master's 
meditations, introduced a stanza or two applicable to the subject. 

^ And wliat though thou, scroll," he said, apostrophizing the 
letter, which lay on the table beibre his master, " dost speak with 
the tongue of the stranger ? Hath not the cuckoo a harsh note, 
and yet she tells us oi green buds and springing flowers ! What 
if thy language be tliat of the stoled priest, is it not the same 
which binds hearts and hands together at the altar 1 And what 
tliough tliou delayest to render up thy treasures, are- not all plea- 
sures most sweet, when enhanced by expectation ! What were 
the cliase, if the deer dropped at our feet the instant he started 
from tlie cover — or what value were there in the love of the 
maiden, were it yielded without coy delay !" 

The soDg of the bard was hei'e broken short by the entrance of 
the priest, who, hasty in obeying tlie summons of his impatient 
master, had not tarried to lay aside even tlie stole, which he had 
worn in the holy service ; and many of the elders thought it was 
no good omen, that, so habited, a priest should appear in a festive 
assembly, and amid profane minstrelsy. 

The priest opened the letter of the Norman Baron, and, struck 
with surprise at the contents, lifted his eyes in silence. 

** Read it !" exclaimed the fierce Gwenwyn. 

" So please you," repUed the more prudent chaplain, ^ a smaller 
company were a fitter audience." 

** Kead it aloud I" repeated the Prince, in a still higher tone ; 
" there sit none here who respect not the honour of their prince, 
or who deserve not his confidence. Read it, I say, aloud I and 
by Saint David, if Raymond the Norman hath dared " 

He stopped e^ort, and, reclining on his seat, composed himself 
to an attitude of attention ; but it was easy for his followers to 
fill up the breach in his exclamation which prudence had recom- 
mended. 

The voice of the chaplain was low and ill-assured as he read 
the following epistle : — 

•* Raymond Berenger, the noble Norman Knight, Seneschal of 
the Grarde Doloureuse, to Gwenwyn, Prince of Powys, (may 
peace be between them !) sendeth health. 

*' Your letter, craving the hand of our daughter Eveline Be- 
renger, was safely delivered to us by your servant, Jorwortli ap 
Jevan, and we thank you heartily for the good meaning therein 
expressed to us and to ours. But, considering within ourselvc^H 
(he difierence of blood and lineage, with the impediments au4 
causes of offence which have often arisen in the like < 

VOL. XIX. o 



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34 TALKS OP THE CRUSADEBg* 

hold it fitter to matefa our daughter among onr own people ; and 
this by no case in disparagement of you, bat 8<4dy for the weal 
of you, of ourselves^ and of our mutual dependants, who will bs 
the more safe from the risk of quarrel betwixt us, that we essay 
not to draw the bonds of our intimacy more close than beseemetb. 
The sheep and the goats feed together in peace on the same pas* 
tares, but they mingle not in blood, or race, the one with the 
other. Moreover, our daughter Eveline hath been sought in 
marriage by a noble and potent Lord of the Marches, Hugo de 
Lacy, &e Constable of Chester, to which most honourable suit we 
have retamed a fitvourable answer. It is therefore impossible 
that we should in this matter grant to you the boon you seek ; 
nevertheless, you shall at all times find us, in other matters, will- 
ing to pleasure you ; and hereunto we call God, and Our Lady, 
and Saint Mary Magdalene of Qnatford, to witaess ; to whose 
keeping we heartily recommend you. 

<< Written by our command, at our Castle of Garde Doloureuse^ 
within the Mutshes of Wales, by a reverend priest, Father Aldro- 
▼and, a black monk of the house of Wenlock ; and to which we 
have appended our seal, upon the eve of the blessed martyr Saint 
Alphegius, to whom be honour and glory 1** 

The voice of Father Einion Altered, and the scroll which he 
h^ in his hand trembled in his grasp, as he arrived at the con- 
clusion of this epistle ; for well he knew that insults more slight 
than Gwenwyn would hold the least word it contained, were sure 
to put every drop of his British bk>od into the most vehement 
commotion. Nor did it fail to do so. The Prince had gradually 
drawn himself up from the posture of repose in which he had 
I»epared to listen to the episile ; and when it eondnded, he sprung 
on bis feet like a startled Hon, spuming from him as he rose ihb 
foot-bearer, who rolled at some distance en the floor. ^ Priest,** 
he sud, ** hast thou read that accursed seroU furiy ! fbr if thou 
hast added, or diminished, one word, or <me letter, I will have 
tlnne eyes so handled, that thou shalt never read letter more P 

The monk replied, trembling, (for he was well aware that the 
saeerdotal character was not imiformly respected amoDg the iras- 
cible Welshmen,) ** By the oath of my order, mighty prince, I 
have read word for word, and letter for letter." , 

There was a momentary pause, while the fuiy of Gwenwyn, at 
this unexpected affront, offered to him in the presence of idl his 
Uckelwyr, (t. e. noble chiefs, literally men of high stature,) seemed 
too big for utterance, when the silence was broken by a few notes 
from the hitherto mute harp of Cadwallon. The Prmee looked 
round at first with displeasure at tlie interruption, for he was him- 
self aboui to epeiak ; but when he beheld the bard bending over 
his harp with an air of inspiration, and blending together, with 
nnexampled skill, the wildest and most exalted tones of his art, he 
himflslf became an auditor instead of a speaker, and GadwaUoo, 



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TALB I. THB BBTBOTIIBD. M 

not tbe Prince, seemed to become the central point of the awombly, 
on whom all eyes were bent, and to whom each ear was turned 
with breathless eagerness, as if his strains were the respond of 
an oracle. 

^ We wed not with the stranger," — thus burst the song from 
the lips of the poet. " Yortigem wedded with the stranger ; 
thence came the first wo upon Britain, and a sword upon her 
nobles, and a thunderbolt upon her palace. We wed not with 
the enskyed Saxon — the free and princely stag sedcs not for his 
bride the heifer whose neck the yoke hath worn. We wed not 
witii the rapadous Norman -— the noble hound aoomi to seek a 
mate from the herd of ravenmg wt^es. When was it heard that- 
the Qymiy, the descendants of Brute, the trtte chUdren of the 
soil 0^ fitur Britain, were plundered, oppressed, bereft of their 
birthright, and insulted eren in their last retreats ! — when> but 
einoe they stretched their hand in friendship to tlra stranser,tfid 
dasped to theur bosoms the dau^iter of the Saxon ! Which of 
the two is feared ! -^ the empty water-course of summer, or the 
channel of tbe headlong winter torrent I — A maiden smiles at 
tiie sammer^toimk brook while she crosses it, buta barbed horse 
and his rider wiU fear to stem the wintry flood. Men of Math- 
favel add Powys, be the dreaded flood of winter — 6wenwyn> son 
of Crveriioek ! -^ may thy plume be the topmost of its waves 1" 

AB thoughts of peace^ thoughts which, in themselvesi were 
foreign to the heaartt of ^e warlike British, passed before the 
song of CadwaUeii like dust before the whirlwizKl, and the onani- 
■I0II8 shout of the assembly declared for instant war. The 
Prinoe hknaelf spoke not, but, looking proudly around him, fluig 
idbroad his arm, as one who cheers his followers to the attack. 

The priest, had he dared, might have reminded Gwenwyn, that 
the Gross which be had assumed on his shouMer, had consecrated 
his arm to the Holy War, and precluded his engaging in any 
cHfl strife. But the task was too dangerous for Father £inion% 
coarage, aad he shrunk from the hall to the seclusion of his own 
convent. Garadoc, whose brief hour of popuUrity was past, also 
vetiredy with hnmbled and d^eoted looks, and not without a 
g^oe of indignation at his triumphant rival, who had se judl- 
ciovsly reserved his disphty of art for the theme of war, that was 
ever nost popular with the audience. 

Tlie chiefs resumed their seats no longer for the puipoee of 
Uti&witjf but to fix, in the hasty manner customary among these 
ipt warriors, where they were to assemble tiieir forces, which, 
such occasions, comprehended ahnost all the able-bodied 
• ef the oounta^, — for ail, excepting the priests and the 
Wnh^ were soldiers, — and to settle the order of their descent 
9fm ihe devoted marches, where they proposed to signaliaei by 
§mmnk ravage, their sense of the insult which their rrinee had 
iniway b/ the rejeetioD of his snit. 



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TALES OF THB CRUSADERS. 



CHAPTER III. 



The Mmda are namber'd, that make up my life : 
Here must I stay, and here my life must end. 

Henry VI. Act I. 8e»€ IV. 

When Raymond Berenger had despatched his mianon to the 
Prince of Powys, he was not unsuspicious, though altogether 
fearless, of the result He sent messengers to the several 
dependants who held their fiefs by the tenure of eomage, and 
warned them to be on the alert, that he might receive instant 
notice of the approach of the enemy. These vassals, as is well 
known, occupied the numerous towers, which, like so many^ 
falcon-nests, had been buiit on the points most convenient to 
defend the frontiers, and were bound to give signal of any incur- 
sion of the Welsh, by blowing their horns ; which sounds, 
answered from tower to tower, and from station to station, gave 
the alarm for general defence. But although Raymond con- 
sidered these precautions as necessary, from me fickle and pre- 
carious temper of his neighbours, and for maintaining his awn 
credit as a soldier, he was far from believing the danger to be 
imminent ; for the preparations of the Welsh, though on a much 
more extensive scale than had lately been usual, were as secret, 
as their resolution of war had been suddenly adopted. 

It was upon the second morning alter the memorable festival 
(tf Castell-Coch, that the tempest broke on the Norman frontier. 
At first a single, long, and keen bugle-blast, announced the 
approach of the enemy ; presently the signals of alarm were 
echoed from every castie and tower on the borders of Shropshire, 
where every place of habitation was then a fortress. Beacons 
were lighted upon crags and eminences, the bells were rung 
backward in the churches and towns, while the general and 
earnest summons to arms announced an extremity of danger 
which even the inhabitants of that unsettled country had not 
hitherto experienced. 

Amid this general alarm, Raymond Berenger, having buned 
himself in arranging his few but gallant followers and aSierents, 
and taken such modes of procuring intelligence of the enemy's 
strength and motions as were in his power, at length ascended 
the watch-tower of the castle, to observe in person the country 
around, already obscured in several places by the clouds of 
smoke, which announced the progress and the ravages of the 
invaders. He was speedily joined by his favourite squire, to 
whom the unusual heaviness of his master's looks was cause of 
much surprise, for till now they had ever been blithest at the 
hour of battle. The squire held in his hand his master's helmet, 
for Sir Raymcmd was 2UI armed, saving the head. 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 37 

*< Dennis Morolt," said the veteran soldiery ^ are oar vaasala 
aai liegemen all mustered V* 

« All, nobk sir, bat the Flemings, who are not yet come in.** 

^ The lazy hoands, why tarry they 1*' said Raymond. ^ 111 
pdicy it is to plant such sluggish natures in our borders. They 
are Uke their own steers, fitter to tag a plough than for anght 
that requires mettle.*' 

^ With your fayour,*' said Dennis, ^ the knaves can do good 
service notwithstanding. That Wilkin Flammock of the Green 
can strike like the hammers of his own fuUins-mill.*' 

'^ He will fight, I believe, when he cannot help it,** said Ray- 
mond ; '' but he has no stomach for such exercise, and is as slow 
and as stabbom as a mule.'* 

^ And therefore are his countrymen rightly matdied against 
the Welsh," replied Dennis Morolt, ^'tiiat their solid and 
unyielding temper may be a fit foil to the fiery and headlong 
dispodtions of our dangerous neighbours, just as restless waves 
are best opposed by steadfast rocks. — Hark, sur, I hear Wilkin 
Fbmmock's step ascending the turretnstair, as deliberately as 
ever monk mounted to matins." 

Step by step the heavy sound approached, until the form of the 
huge and substantial Fleming at length issued from the turret- 
do^ to the platform where they were conversing. Wilkin 
Flammock was cased in bright armour, of unusual weieht and 
thickness, and cleaned with exceeding care, which marked the 
neatness of his nation ; but, contrary to the custom of the Nor- 
mans, entirely plain, and void of carving, gilding, or any sort of 
ornament. The basenet, or steel-cap, had no visor, and left 
exposed a broad countenance, with heavy and unpliable features, 
wiufdi announced the character of his temper and understanding. 
He carried in his hand a heavy mace. 

« So, Sir Fleming," said the Castellane, « you are in no hurry, 
methinks, to repair to the rendezvous." 

** So please yon," answered the Fleming, " we were compelled 
to tarry, that we might load our wains with our bales of doth and 
other property." 

" Ha I wains ! — ^how many wains have yon bronght with you f 

" Six, noble mt,'* replied Wilkin. 

** And how many men 1" demanded Raymond Berenger. 

** Twelve, valiant sir," answered Fhunmock. 

^ Only two men to each bag^ige-wain ! I wonder you would 
tiius encumber yourself," said Berenger. 

•* Under your favour, sir, once more," replied Wilkin, " it is 
only the value which 1 and my comrades set upon our goods, that 
incmies us to defend them with our bodies ; and, had we been 
oUiged to leave our cloth to the plundering clutches of yonder 
va^gSbonds, I should have seen small policy in stopping her© to 
^ve them the opportunity of adding murder to robbery, 
r should have been my first halting-pUMJe.*' 



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38 TALE0 OF THE CBUSADSRS. 

The Nonaaa Imi^ gazed on the Flemish ajrtiBaii, for nidi mm 
Wilkin Flammock, wim each a mixtore d snrpriae and oon- 
tempi, as MLolnded indigoatiQn. " I ha^e beard mueh," he taid, 
« but thia ia the first time that I ham heard one with a heard on 
hia lip aYWU^ himself a eowacd.'^ 

^jnor do yon hear it now/* answered Flammook, with the 
ntmofit composure — ^ I am ahvays ready to fiffht for Kfe and 
proper^ $ and my coming to tiiia eonntry, n^iere uiey are both in 
eoMtont danger, shews that I oare nol much how often I do ao. 
But a sound skin is better than a slashed one, for all thaf 

^Well," said Raymond Berenger, ^ fight after tlune own 
faalttoOf so thou wilt but fight stoutiiy with that long body of 
thine. We are like, to hare need for all that we can do. — Saw 
YOU augjbt of these rasoaille Welsh l^-hare they Gwenwyn's 
iMttner amongst them I" 

^ I saw it with the white dragon displayed," rej^d Wilkin ; 
^ I eould not but know it, since it was bnndeved in my own loom.'' 

Baymond looked so grave npon this intelligenfle, thai Dennia 
Morolt, unwilling the Fleming should mark it, thought it neces* 
sary to withdraw his attention. ^ I can tell thee," he said to 
Ffaonmook, << that wh^ the Constable of Chester joins us fnth 
hia lances, yon shall see your handiwork, the dragon, fly faster 
homeward than ever flew the buttle which wove it." 

^ It must fly before the Constable comes up, Denms Morolt^" 
Mid Berenger, *^ else it will fly triumpiiant ova* all our bodies." 

<< In the name of God and the Holy Virgin !" said Dennis, 
^ what may you mean. Sir Knight 1^ not tliAt we should fight 
with the Wc^ before the Constable joins ns 1" — He paused, and 
then, well understanding the firm, yet melancholy gUnoe^ with 
which his master answered the question, he proceeded, with yet 
more vehement earnestness — ^ You oannot mean it -^ yon can* 
not intend that we shall quit this castle, which we have so ofben 
made good against them, and eontend in the field with two 
Iwndred men against thousands 1 — Think better of it, my beloved 
mantsr, and let not the rashness of vour old age blemish that 
character for wisdom and warlike skiU, which yonr former life 
haa ao nobly won." 

^ I am not angry with you for blaming my purpose, Dennis," 
answered the Norman, ^ lor I know yon do it m love to me and 
mine. But, Dennis Morolt, this thing must be — we must fight 
the Welshmen mthin these three houre, or the name of Ray- 
mond Berenger must be blotted fh>m the genealogr of his house." 

^ And so we will *~ we will fight them, my noble master," said 
the esquire ; ^ fear not eold eounsel from Dennis Horolt, where 
battle is ih» theme. But we wiU fight them under the wsUs ol 
the castle, with honest Wilkin Flammock and his erosi^ws on 
the waU to {^Kitect our flanks, and afford us some baknce«gamst 
the numerous odds." 

^ Mot soy Dennis," answered his master -^ ^ In the open field 



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TALK I. TH£ MTBOTHSIK 30 

we must &;tit ibem, or thj masteir must rank but as ft DMUiswoni 
knight. Know, that when I feae^ yonder wily savage in mjr 
bails at Christmas, and when the wine was flowing fiMteet arouid, 
Gwenwyn threw out some praises of the &stneeB and strengtii of 
my castle, in' a manner which intimated it was these advantages 
alone that had secured me in former wars from defeat and c^>ti- 
Tity. I spoke in answer, when I had far better been aileni ; for 
wm^t avaUed my idle boast, bnt as a fetter to bind me to a deed 
next to madness ! I^ I said, a prince of the Cymrv shall oome 
in hostile fashion before the Ganie Doloureuse, let him piteh his 
standard down in yonder plain by the bridge, and, by the word 
of a good knight, and the faith of a Christian man, Raymond 
Berenger will meet him as willingly, be he many or be m lew, 
as ever Welshman was met with^^' 

D^inis was struck speechless when he. heard of a promise so 
rash, so iatai ; but his was not the casuistry which could please 
his master from the fetters with which his unwaiy confideiioe had 
boimd him. It was otherwise with Wilkin Fbunmock. He 
stared — he almost laughed, notwithstanding the reverence due 
to the Castellaae, and his own insensibility to risible emotions. 
** And is this all I" he said. ^ Tf your honour had pledged your- 
self to pay one hundred florins to a Jew or to a Lombard, no 
doobt you must have kept the day, or forfeited your pledge ; but 
surely one day is as good as another to keep a promise for nghting, 
and that day is best in which the promisor is strongest. But 
indiBed, after all, what signifies any promise over a wine flagon!** 

^ It s^iifies as much as a promise can do that is given ^se- 
wh^ce. The promiser," said Berenger, ^ escapes not the sin of 
a word-breaks, because he hath been a drunken braggart.** 

^ For tiie sin,'* said Dennis, ^ sure I am, that rather than you 
should ^ such a deed of dok^ the Abbot of Glastonbury would 
absolve you for a florin.** 

<< Bat what shall wipe out the shame 1** demanded Berenger— 
*<how shall I dare to shew myself again among press of knights, 
who have broken my word of battle plec^ed, for fear of a Welsh^ 
man and his naked savages ! No ! Dennis Moroit, speak on it 
no more. Be it for weal or wo, we fight them to-day, and npon 
yonder fair field.*' 

** It may be,'* said Flammock, '* that Gwenwyn may have for 
gotten the promise, and so fail to appear to chum it in thA 
appointed space ; for, as we heard, your wines of France flooded 
m» Welsh brains deeply.** 

<* He again alluded to it on the morning after it was made," 
said the Castellane — '* trust me, he will not forget what wiU 
give him such a chance of removing me from his path for ever.'* 

As he apoke, they observed that large clouds of dust, which 
had been seen at different points of the landscape, were dhrawing 
down towards the opposite side of the river, over which an 
MCNftt bcidge extended itself to the appomted phtoe of oombaW 



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40 TALES OP THE CRaSAPERS. 

They were at no loss to conjecture the cause. It was OTident 
that Gwenwyn, recalling the parties who had been engaged in 
partial devastation, was bending with his whole forces towards 
the bridge and the plain beyond it. 

^' Let us rush down and secure the pass/' said Dennis Morolt ; 
** we may debate with them with some equality by the advantage 
of defending the bridge. Your word bound you to the plain as 
to a field of battle, but it did not oblige you to forego such advan- 
tages as the passage of the bridge would afford. Our men, our 
horses, are ready — let our bowmen secure the banks, and my 
life on the issue.*' 

** When I promised to meet him in yonder field, I meant," 
replied Raymond Berenger, '<to give the Welshman the fiill 
advantage of equality of ground. I so meant it — he so under- 
Bto5d it ; and what avails keeping my word in the letter, if I 
break it in the sense ! We move not till the last Welshman has 
crossed the bridge ; and then " 

^ And then," said Dennis, *' we move to our death I — May 
God forgive our sins ! But " 

** But what ?" said Berenger ; ^ something sticks in thy mind 
that should have vent." 

** My young lady, your daughter the Lady Eveline " 

''I have told her what is to be. She shall remain in the 
castle, wh«re I will leave a few chosen veterans, with you, Den- 
nis, to command them. In twenty-four hours the siege will be 
relieved, and we have defended it longer with a slighter garrison^ 
Then to her aunt, the Abbess of the Benedictine sisters — thou, 
Dennis, wilt see her placed there in honour and safety, and my 
sister will care for her future provision as her wisdom shall 
determine." 

** / leave you at this pinch !" said Dennis Morolt, bursting 
into tears — "/ shut myself up within walls, when my master 
rides to his last of battles ! — I become esquire to a lady, even 
though it be to the Lady Eveline, when he lies dead under his 
shield ! — Raymond Berenger, is it for this that I have buckled 
thy armour so often !" 

The tears gushed from the old warrior's eyes as fast as from 
those of a girl who weeps for her lover ; and Raymond, taking 
him kindly by the hand, said, in a soothing tone, << Do not think^ 
my good old servant, that, were honour to be won, I would drive 
thee from my side. But this is a wild and an inconsiderate deed, 
to which my fate or my folly has bound me. I die to save my 
name from dishonour ; but, alas ! I must leave on my memory 
the charge of imprudence.". 

"Let me share your imprudence, my dearest master," said 
Dennis Morolt, earnestly — <*the poor esquire has no business to 
be thought wiser than his master. In many a battle my valour 
derived some little fame from partaking in the deeds which won 
Your renown — deny me not the riglit to share in that blamo 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 41 

which yonr temerity may incur ; let them not say, that bo rash 
was his action, even his old esquire was not permitted to partake 
in it ! I am part of yourself — it is murder to every man whom 
you take with you, if you leave me behind." 

*• Dennis," said Berenger, ** you make me feel yet more bitterly 
the folly I have yielded to. I would grant you the boon you 
ask, sad as it is — But my daughter " 

^ Sir Knight," said the Fleming, who had listened to this dia- 
logue with somewhat less than his usual ajpathy, ^ it is not my 
purpose this day to leave this castle ; now, if you could trust my 
troth to do what a plain man may for the protection of my Lady 
Eveline " 

'^ How, surrah I" said Baymond ; ^ you do not propose to leave 
tile castle ! Who gives you right to propose or dispose in the 
case, until my pleasure is known !" 

•* I shall be sorry to have words with you, Sir Castellane," said 
the imperturbable Fleming; — <<but I hold here, in this town- 
ship, certain mills, tenements, cloth-yards, and so forth, for which 
I am to pay man-service in defending this Castle of the Grarde 
Doloureuse, and in this I am ready. But if you call on me to 
march from hence, leaving the same castle defenceless, and to 
offer up my life in a battle which you acknowledge to be despe* 
rate, I must needs say my tenure binds me not to obey thee." 

** Base mechanic V said Morolt, laying his hand on his dagger, 
and menacing the Fleming. 

But Raymond Berenger interfered with voice and hand — 
<* Harm him not, Morolt, and blame him not He hath a sense 
of duty, though not after our manner ; and he and Ins knaves 
will fight best behind stone walls. They are taught also, these 
Flemings, by tiie practice of their own country, the attack and 
defence of walled cities and fortresses, and are especially skilful 
in working of mangonels and mihtary engines. There are seve- 
ral of his countrymen in the castle, brides his own followers. 
These I propose to leave behind ; and I think they will obey him 
more readily than any but thyself — how think'st thou ! Thou 
wouldst not, I know, from a misconstrued point of honour, or a 
blind love to me, leave this important pUuse, and the safety of 
Eveline, in doubtfol hands I" 

<* Wilkin Fhunmock is but a Flemish clown, noble sir,** 
answered Dennis, as much overjoyed as if he had obtained some 
important advantage ; *' but I must needs say he is as stout and 
true as any whom you might trust ; and, besides, his own shrewd- 
ness will teach him there is more to be gained by defending such 
a castle as this, than by yielding it to strangers, who may not be 
likely to keep the terms of surrender, however fiurly they may 
offer them.** 

^ It is fixed then,'* said Raymond Berenger. ** Then, Dennis, 
thou shalt go with me, and he shall remain behind. — Wilkin 
Hammock,*' he said, addressing the Fleming solemnly, *' I speak 



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48 TALES OF THK ORUSAI^RS. 

not to tiiee Ae Unguage of chivalry, of whioh thou knowert 
aoibiiig ; but, as tfaoa art an honest man, and a true Christian, I 
Vxmjure thee to stand to the defence of this castle. Let no prot 
mise of the enemy draw thee to any base composition — no 
threat to any surrender. Belief must speedily arrive, if yoa 
fulfil your trust to me and to my daughter, Hugo de Lacy will 
reward you richiy — if you fail, he will punish you severely." 

^ Sir Kni^t," said Flammock, '' I am pleased you have put 
your trust so far in a plain handicraftsman. For the Welsh, I 
am come from a land for which we were compelled^ — yearly 
compelled — to struggle with the sea ; and they who can deal 
with the waves in a tempest, need not fear an undisciplined 
people in their fury. Your daughter shall be as dear to me as 
mine own ; and in that faith you may prick forth — i^ indeed, 
you will not still, like a wiser man, shut gate, down portcullis, up 
drawbridge, and let your archers and my crossbows man the 
wbM, and t^ the knaves you are not the. fool that they take you 
for." 

^ Good feUow, that must not be," said the Knight ^ I hear 
my daughter's voice," he added hastily ; ^ I would not again 
meet her, again to part £rom her. To Heaven's keeping I oomp 
mtt thee, honest Fleming. — Fdlow me, Dennis Morolt." 

The old Castellane descended the stair of the southern tower 
hastily, just as his daughter Eveline ascended that of tiie eastern 
turret, to throw herself at his feet once more. She was followed 
by the Father Aldrovand, chaplain of her father ; by an old and 
almost invalided huntsman, whose more active services in the 
field and the chase had been for some time chiefly limited to the 
superintendence of the Knight's kennels, and the charge espe- 
eiaUy of his more favourite hounds ; and by Rose Flammock, the 
daughter of Wilkin, a blue-«yed Flemish maiden, round, plump^ 
«nd shy as a partridge, who had been for some time permitted to 
keep company with the high-bom Norman damsel, in a doubt- 
ful station, betwixt that of an humble friend and a superior 
domestic. 

EveUne rushed upon the battlements, her hai|>dishevelled,and 
her eyes drowned in tears, and eagerly demanded of the Fleming 
where her father was. 

Flammock made a clumsy reverence, and attempted some 
answer ; but his voice seemed to fail him. He turned his back 
upon Eveline without ceremony, and totally disregarding the 
anxious inquiries of the huntsman and the chaphun, he said 
hastily to his daughter, in his own Unguage, ^ Mad work ! mad 
work ! look to the poor maiden, Rosohen — Der alter Hen iM 
9€mtekt.*** 

Without farther speech he descended the stairs, and nevnr 
paused till he reached the buttery. Here he called like a lion for 

«Tbfoldk)rdiifinuitiib. 



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TALB 1. THE BETROTHED. 43 

tbe eonlroller of these regions, by the Tarioos names c£ Kam- 
merer, KeUer-master, and so forth, to which the old Reinold, an 
anient Norman esquire, answered not, until the Netheriander 
foriiinately reeoUscted his Anglo-Norman title of buUer. ThiSy 
his regular name of office, was Sue key to the buttery-hatch, and the 
M man instantly appeared, with his gray cassock and high rolled 
hose, a ponderous bunch of keys suspended by a silver chun to his 
broad leatbera girdle, which, in consideration of the emergency 
of the time, he had tiM>ught it right to balance on the left side 
with a huge falchion, which seemed much too woghty for his 
old arm to wield. 

« What is your will," he said, << Master Flammock! or what 
are your commands, ^noe it is my lord's pleasure that they shall 
be laws to me for a time V* 

" Only a cup of wine, good Meister Keller-master — butler, I 



^ I am ghbd you ronember the name of mine office," said 
B^dd, with some of the petty resentment of a spoiled domestic, 
who thinks that a stranger has been irreguhurly put in command 
ov^rhim. 

*< A flagon of Rhenish, if you love me," answered the Fleming, 
^ for my heart is low and poor within me, and I must neecb 
drink c^ the best" 

•* And drink you shall," said Reinold, ** if drink will give yo« 
the courage which perhaps you want" — He descended to the 
secret crypts, of which he was the guardian, and returned with a 
eUver flagon, which might contain about a quart '—*' Here is 
flooh wine," said Reinold, ^ as thou hast seldom tasted," and was 
about to pour it out into a cup. 

^ Nay, the flagon ^ the flagon, friend Remold ; I k>ve a deep 
and solemn draught when the business is w^shty," said Wilkin. 
He seiaed on the flagon accordingly, and drioSang a preparatory 
mouthful, paused as if to estimate the strength and flavour oi 
An generous liquor. Apparently he was pletuied with both, for 
he nodded in approbation to the butler ; and, raising the flagon 
to his mouth once more, he slowly and gradually brought the 
bottom of the vessel parallel with the roof of the apartment, 
without suffering one drop of the contentB to escape him. 

** That hath savour, Herr Keller-master," said he, while he 
was recovering his breath by mtervals, after so long a suspense 
of resioration ; << but, may Heaven forgive you for linking it the 
best I have ever tasted 1 You little know the ceUars of Ghent 
andofYpres." 

^ And I care not for them," said Reined ; " those of gentle 
Norman blood hold the wines of Gkucony and France, senenras, 
fi^t, and cordial, worth all the add potations of the I&ine and 
the Met^ar." 

«A11 is matter of taste," said Hie Fleming; «btttharkye« 
Is then much of this wine in the eeilar t" 



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44 TALES OF TRB CRUSADERS. 

" Methougiit but now it plefused not your dainty paUte t" said 
Keinold. 

** Nay, nay, my friend," said Wilkin, " I said it had savour — 
.1 may have drunk better — but this is right good, where better 
may not be had. — Again, how much of it hast thou !" 

" The whole butt, man," answered the butler ; ^ I have 
broached a fresh piece for you." 

" Good," replied Flammock ; ^ get the quart-pot of Ghristiaii 
measure ; heave the cask up into this same buttery, and let each 
soldier of this castle be served with such a cup as I have here 
swallowed. I feel it hath done me much good — my heart was 
sinking when I saw the black smoke arising from mine own 
fulling-mills yonder. Let each man, I say, have a full quart-pot 
— men defend not castles on thin liquors." 

^ I must do as you will, good Wilkin Flammock," said the 
butler; <'but I pray remember all men are not alike. That 
which will but warm your Flemish hearts, will put wildfire into 
Norman brains; and what may only encourage your country- 
men to man the walls, will make ours fly over Sie battlements." 

^ Well, you know the conditions of your own countrymen best ; 
jserve out to them what wines and measure you list — only let 
each Fleming have a solemn quart of Rhenish. — But what will 
you do for Sie English churls, of whom there are a right many 
left with us !" 

The old butler paused, and rubbed his brow. — " There will be 
a strange waste of liquor," he said ; ^ and yet I may not deny 
that ^the emergency may defend the expenditure. But for the 
English, they are, as you wot, a mixed breed, having much of 
your Grerman sullenuess, toge^er with a plentiful touch of the 
not blood of yonder Welsh furies. Light wines stir them not ; 
strong heavy draughts would nuidden them. What think you of 
ale, an invigorating, strengthening hquor, that warms the heart 
wiUiout infliuning &e brain V* 

** Ale !" said the Fleming.— " Hum — ha — is your ale mighty, 
Sff Butler ! — is it double ale !" 

''Do you doubt my skill!" said the butler. — ''March and 
October have witnessed me ever as they came round, for thirty 
years, deal with the best barley in Shropshire. — You shall 
judge." 

He filled, from a large hogshead in the comer of the buttery, 
the flagon which tiie Fleming had just emptied, and which was 
no sooner replenished than Wilkin again drained it to the 
bottom. 

" Good ware," he said, " Master Butler, strong stingmg ware. 
The English churls will fight like devils upon it — let them be 
furnished with mighty ale along with their beef and brown 
bread. And now, having given you your charge, Master Rein- 
old, it is time I should look after mine own." 

Wilkin Flammock left the buttery^ and with a mien and 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 48 

MgmeDt alike undisturbed by the deep potatious in which h« 
nad so recently indulged, undisturbed also by the various rumours 
Doneeming what was passing without doors, he made the round 
of the castle and its outworks, mustered the little garrison, and 
assigned to each their posts, reserving to his own countrymen 
die management of the arblasts, or crossbows, and of the mili- 
tary engines which were contrived by the proud Normans, and 
were incomprehensible to the ignorant English, or, more pro- 
perly, Anglo-Saxons, of the period, but which his more adroit 
countrymen managed with great address. The jealousies enter- 
tained by both the Normans and English, at being pktced under 
the temporary command of a Fleming, ^dually yielded to the 
military and mechanical skill which he displayed, as well as to a 
sense of the emergency, which became greater with every 
moment. 



CHAPTER IV. 

Bedde yon brigg out ower yon burn, 
Where the water bickereth bright and sheen, 

Shall man^ a tailing courier spurn, 
And knights shaU die in battle keen. 

Prophecjf of Thtmoi the Bhymer. 

Thb daughter of Raymond Berenger, with the attendants 
whom we have mentioned, continued to remain upon the battle- 
ments of the Grarde Doloureuse, in spite of the exhortations of 
the priest that she would rather await the issue of this terrible 
interval in the chapel, and amid the rites of religion. He per- 
ceived, at length, that she was incapable, from grief and fear, of 
attending to, or understanding his advice ; and, sitting down 
beside her, while the huntsman and Rose Fhunmock stood by, 
endeavoured to suggest such comfort as perhaps he scarcely felt 
himself. 

** This is but a sally of your noble father's," he said ; "and 
though it may seem it is made on great hazard, yet who ever 
questioned Sir Raymond Berenger's policy of wars! — He is 
dose and secret in his purposes. I guess right well he had not 
marched out as he proposes, unless he knew that the noble Earl 
of Arundel, or the mighty Constable of Chester, were close at 
hand." 

** Think you this assuredly, good father! — Go, Raoul — go, 
my dearest Rose — look to the east — see if you cannot descry 
banners or clouds of dust. — Listen — listen — hear you no 
trompets from that quarter V* 

« Alas ! my lady," said Raoul, * the thunder of heaven could 
icaiee be heard amid the howling of yonder Welsh wolves. 



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40 TALB8 OF THB CRUSADKRfll. 

Eveline tamed as he spoke, and looking towards the bridge, she 
beheld an appalling spectacle. 

The river, whose stream washes on three sides the base of Hie 
proud eminence on which the castle is situated, curves away from 
the fortress and its corresponding village on the west, and the 
hill sinks downward to an extensive plain, so extremely level as 
to indicate its alluvial origin. Lower down, at the extremity of 
this plain, where the banks again close on the river, were i^toated 
the manufacturing houses of the stout Flemings, which were now 
burning in a bright flame. The bridge, a high, narrow combina- 
tion of arebes of unequal size, was at^ut half a mile distant from 
the castle, in the very centre of the plain. The river itself rati 
in a deep rocky channel, was often unfordable, and at all times 
difficult of passage, giving considerable advantage to the defenders 
of the castle, who had spent on other occasions many a dear drop 
of blood to defend the pass, which Raymond Berenger's fantastic 
scruples now induced him to abandon. The Welshmen, seizing 
the opportunity with the avidity with which men grasp an unex- 
pected benefit, were fast crowding over the high and steep arches, 
while new bands, collecting from different points upon the farther 
bank, increased the continued stream of warriors, who, passiDg 
leisurely and uninterrupted, formed their line of battle on the 
phiin opposite to the castle. 

At first Father Aldrovand viewed thehr motions without 
anxiety, nay, with the scornful smile of one who observes an 
enemy in the act of falling into the snare spread for them by 
superior skill. Raymond Berenger, with his little body of 
innmtry and cavaby, were drawn up on the easy hill which is 
betwixt the castle and the pWn, ascending from the former 
towards the fortress ; and it seemed clear to the Dominican, who 
had not entirely forgotten in the cloister his ancient military 
experience, that it was the Knight's purpose to attack the disor- 
dered enemy when a certain number had crossed the river, and 
the others were partly on the farther side, and partly engaged in 
the slow and penlous manoeuvre of effecting their passage. But 
when large bodies of the white-mantled Welshmen were permitted 
without interruption to take such order on the plain as their 
habits of fighting recommended, the monk's countenance, though 
he still endeavoured to speak encouragement to the terrifiied 
Eveline, assumed a different and au anxious expression ; and his 
acquired habits of resignation contended strenuously with his 
ancient military ardour. ^ Be patient," he said, ^ my daughter, 
and be of good comfort ; thine eyes shall behold the dismay of 
yonder barbarous enemy. Let but a minute elapse, and ikon 
shalt see them scattered like dust — Saint Greorge I they will 
surely cry thy name now, or never !" 

The monk's beads passed meanwhile rapidly through his 
hands, but many an expression of military impatience mingled 
itself with his orisons. He could not conceive the canse wfaf 



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TALB I. THE BETROTHED* 47 

tmeh mnooeaArt tlffong of momitahieers, led under tiieir dUferent 
baasers, and headed by their renpective chieftains, was permitted, 
wHIioiit interruption, to pass tiie difficult defile, azid extend them- 
settes in battle array on the near side of the bridge, while the 
fingyah, or rather Anglo-Norman cavalry, remained stationary, 
witnont so ninefa as laying their lances in rest There remained^ 
as be thought, but one hope — one only rational explanation of 
tUs onaccountable inactirity — this Toluntary surrender of every 
advantage of ground, when that of numbers was so tremendous^ 
m the e»de of the enemy. Father Aldrovand concluded, that the 
Mirs of tiie Constable of Chester, and other Lord Marchers, 
; be in the immediate vicinity, and that the Wdsh vr^e only 



permitted to pass the river without opposition, that their retreat 
mi^t be the more effectually cut off, and their defeat, with a 
6t0p river in their rear, rendered the more signallv calamitous. 
But even while he clung to this hope, the monk s heart sunk 
within him^ as> looking in every direction from which the expected 
succours might arrive, he could neither see nor hear the slightest 
token which announced their approach. In a frame of mind 
apinroa^HBg more nearly to despab than to hope, the old man 
•ontiBued lUtemately to tell hn beads, to gaze anxiously around, 
aad to address some words of consolation in broken phrases to 
tbb young lady, until the general shout of the Weldi, ringine 
from the bank of the river to the battlements of the castle, warned 
hnn, in a note ol exultation, that the very last of the British had 
defiled through the pass, and that their whole formidable array 
stood prompt for aeftion upon the hither side of the river. 

This tfirUling and astoimding clamour, to which each Welsh- 
BttB lent his voice with aH the energy of defiance, thirst of 
battle, and hope of conquest, was at lengtii answered by the bhwt 
of the Nonnan trumpets, — tiie first sign of activity which had 
been exhibited on the part of Raymond Bereneer. But cheerily 
as they rang, the trumpets, in comparison of the shout which 
they answer^ sounded like the alver whistle of the stout boat- 
swain amid the howling of the tempest. 

At ti^e same moment when the trumpets were blown, Bereng«r 
gave sigoal to the archers to discharge their arrows, and the 
inenHit-arms to advance under a bail-storm of shafts, javelins, and 
stones, shot, darted, and slung by the Welsh against then* steel-' 
cbd assailants. 

The veterans of Raymond, on the other hand, stimulated by so 
many victorious recollections, confident in the talents of their 
aceompUshed leader, and undismayed even by the desperation of 
their circumstances, charged the mass of the Welsnmen with 
their usual determined valour. It was a gallant sight to see this 
little body of cavalry advance to the onset, their plumes floating 
above their hehnets, their lances in rest, and projecting six feet 
in length before the breasts of their coursers ; tiieir shields hang- 
ing fr«m tbefr neeks^ that their left hands might have freedom to 



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48 TALES OF THE CRUSADERS, 

guide iheir horses ; and the whole body mshiog on with an equal 
front, and a momentum of speed which increased with every 
second. Such an onset might have startled naked mep, (for such 
were the Welsh, in respect of the mail-sheathed Normans,) hut 
it brought no terrors to the ancient British, who had long made 
it their boast that they exposed their bare bosoms and white 
tunics to the lances and swords of the men-at-arms, with as much 
confidence as if they had been born invulnerable. It was not 
indeed in their power to withstand the weight of the first shock, 
which, breaking their ranks, densely as they were arranged, 
carried the barbed horses into the very centre of their host, and 
well-nigh up to the fatal standard, to which Raymond Berenger, 
bound by his fatal vow, had that day conceded so much vante^ge- 
ground. But they yielded like the billows, which give way, 
indeed, to the gallant ship, but only to assail her sides, and to 
unite in her wake. With wild and horrible clamours, they closed 
their tumultuous ranks around Berenger and his devoted followers, 
and a deadly scene of strife ensued. 

The best warriors of Wales had on this occasion joined the 
standard of Gwenwyn ; the arrows of the men of Gwentland, whose 
skill i^ archery almost equalled that of tlie Normans themselves, 
rattled on the helmets of the men-at-arms ; and the spears of the 
people of Deheubarth, renowned for the sharpness and temper of 
their steel heads, were employed against the cuirasses not without 
fatal effect, notwithstanding the protection which these afforded 
to the rider. 

It was in vain that the archery belonging to Raymond's Uttle 
band, stout yeomen, who, for the most part, held possessions 
by military tenure, exhausted their quivers on the broad mark 
afforded them by the Welsh army. It is probable, that every 
shaft carried a Welshman's life on its point ; yet, to have afforded 
important relief to the cavalry, now closely and inextricably 
engaged, the slaughter ought to have been twenty -fold at least. 
Meantime, the Welsh, galled by this incessant discharge, answered 
it by volleys from their own archers, whose numbers made some 
amends for their inferiority, and who were supported by nume- 
rous bodies of darters and slingers. So that the Norman archers, 
who had more than once attempted to descend from their position 
to operate' a diversion in favour of Raymond and his devoted band, 
were now so closelv engaged in front, as obliged them to abandon 
all thoughts of such a movement. 

Meanwhile, that chivalrous leader, who from the first had hoped 
for no more than an honourable deatii, laboured with all his power 
to render his fate signal, by involving in it that of the Welsh 
Prince, the author of the war. He cautiously avoided the expendi- 
ture of his strength by hewing among the British ; but, with the 
shock of his managed horse, repelled the numbers who pressed on 
him, and leaving the plebeians to the swords of his companions, 
thouted bis war-cry, and made his way towards the fatal standard 



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TALE I. THE BETBOTHED. 49 

of Gwenwyn, beside which, disehargini^ at once the dntlcB of a 
skilfal leader and a brave sokiier, the Prince had stationed him- 
self. Raymond's experience of the Welsh disposition, subject 
e^oally to the highest flood, and roost sudden ebb of passion, gave 
hun some hope Siat a socoesalid attads upon this point, followed 
bj the death or capture <^ the Prince, and the downfidl of hit 
standard, might even yet strike such a panic, as should change 
the fortunes of the day, otherwise so nearly desperate. The 
veteran, therefore, animated his comrades to the charge hj voice 
and example ; and, in spite of all oi^>osition, forced his way 
gradually onward. But Gwenwyn in person, surrounded by his 
best and noblest champions, offered a defence as obstinate as the 
assault was intrepid. In vain they were borne to the earth by 
the barbed horses, or hewed down by the invulnerable riders. 
Wounded and overthrown, the Britons continued their resistance, 
dung round the legs of the Norman steeds, and cumbered their 
advance ; while their brethren, thrustang wiUi pikes, proved every 
joint and crevice of the plate and mail, or grappling with the men- 
at-arms, strove to pull ihem fmn their horses by main force, or 
beat them down with their bills and Welsh hooks. And wo 
betide those who were by these various means dismounted, for the 
long sharp knives worn by the Welsh soon pierced them with a 
hundred wounds, and were then only merciful when the first 
infiieted was deadly. 

The combat was at this point, and had ra||ed for more than 
half an hour, when Berenger, having forced his horse within two 
spears' length of the British standard, he and Gwenwyn were so 
near to each other as to exchange tokens of mutual defiance. 

*^ Turn thee. Wolf of Wales,"' said Berenger, << and abide, if 
Ifaoa darest, one blow of a good knight's sword ! Baymcmd 
Berenger spits at thee and thy banner." 

" False Norman churl 1" said Gwenwyn, swinging around his 
bead a mace of prodigious weight, and already clottered with 
blood, ^ thy iron head-piece shall ill protect thy lying tongue, 
with which I will this day feed the ravens." 

Raymond made no farther answer, but pushed his horse 
towards the Prince, who advanced to meet him with equal readi- 
nefls. But ere they came within reach of each other's weapons, 
a Welsh champion, devoted like the Romans who opposed the 
dephanls of Pyrrhus, finding that the armour of Raymond's 
hone resisted the repeated urnists of his spear, threw himself 
imder the animal, and stabbed him in the belly with Jda long 
knife. The noble horse reared and fell, crushing with his weight 
the Briton who had wounded him ; the helmet of the rider burst 
its clasps in the fall, and rolled away from his head, giving to 
view his noble features and gray hairs. He made more than 
•Be effort to extricate himself &om tlie fallen horse, but ere he 
could succeed, received his death's-wound from the hand ol 

VOL. XUL fi 



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60 TALES OP THE CRUSADERS. 

^wenwyn, who hesitated not to strike hira down with his mace 
while in the act of extricating himself. 

Daring the whole of this bloody day, Dennis Morolt's horse 
had kept pace for pace, and his arm blow for blow, with his 
master's. It seemed as if two different bodies had been moving 
under one act of volitaon. He husbanded his strength, or put it 
forth, exactly as he observed his knight did, and was close by 
his side, when he made the last deadly effort. At that fatal 
moment when Raymond Berenger rushed on the chief, the 
brave squire forced his way up to the standard, and, grasping it 
firmly, struggled for possession of it with a gigantic Briton, to 
whose care it 'had been confided, and who now exerted his 
utm«st strength to defend it. But eVen while engaged in this 
mortal struggle, the eye of Morolt scarcely left his master ; and 
when he saw him fall, his own force seemed by sympathy to 
abandon him, and the British champion had no longer any 
trrmble in laying him prostrate among the slain. 

The victory of the British was now complete. Upon the faL 
of their leader, the followers of Raymond Berenger would wil- 
lingly have fled or surrendered. But the first was impossible, so 
closely had they been enveloped ; and in the cruel wars main- 
tained by the Welsh upon their frontiers, quarter to the van- 
quished was out of question. A few of the men-at-arms were 
lucky enough to disentangle themselves from the tumult, and, 
not even attempting to enter the castle, fled in various directions, 
to carry their own fears among the inhabitants of the marches, by 
announcing the loss of the battle, and the fate of the far-renowned 
Raymond Berenger. 

The archers of the fallen leader, as they had never been so 
deeply involved in the combat, which had been chiefly maintained 
by the cavalry, became now, in their turn, the sole object of the 
enemy's attack. But when they saw the multitude come roaring 
towards them like a sea, with all its waves, they abandoned the 
bank which they had hitherto bravely defended, and began a 
regular retreat to the castle in the best order which they could, as 
the only remaining means of securing their Uves. A few of their 
light-footed enemies attempted to intercept them, during the exe- 
cution of this prudent manoeuvre, by outstripping them in their 
march, and throwing themselves into the hollow way which led 
to the castie, to oppose their retreat. But the coolness of the 
English archers, accustomed to extremities of every kind, sup- 
ported them on the present occasion. While a part of them armed 
with glaives and bills, dislodged the Welsh from the hollow way, 
the otiiers, facing in the opposite direction, and parted into divi- 
sions, which alternately halted and retreated, maintained such a 
countenance as to check pursuit, and exchange a severe discharge 
of missiles with the Wel^, by which both parties were consi- 
derable sufferers. 

At length, having left more than two-thirds of their brave 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 51 

eompamons behind them, the yeomanry attained the point, whieh, 
being conmianded by arrows and engines from the battlements, 
might be considered as that of comparative safety. A volley of 
large stones, and sqoare-headed bolts of great size and thickneio^ 
effectually stopped the farther progress of tlie pursuit, and those 
who had led it drew back their desultory forces to the phun, 
where, with shouts of jubilee and exultation, their countrymen 
were employed in securing the plunder of the field ; while some^ 
impelled by hatred and revenge, mangled and mutilated the limbs 
of the dead Normans, in a manner unworthy of their national 
cause and their own courage. The fearful yells with which this 
dreadful work was consummated, while it struck horror into the 
minds of the slender garrison of the Garde Doloureuse, inspired 
them at the same time with the resolution rather to defend the 
fortress to the last extremity, than to submit to the mercy of 
so vengeful an enemy.* 



CHAPTER V 

That Baroo he to hia castle tied. 

To Barnard Castle then fled he ; 
The uttermost walls were enthe to win. 

The Earls have won them speedilie ; — 
The uttermost walls were stone and brick ; 

But UiougU they won them soon anon. 
Long ere they won the inmost walls, 

For they were hewn in rock of stone. 

Pkroy 's ReUct qfAnaent Pottrjf. 

Thb unhappy fate of the battle was soon evident to the anxious 
spectators upon the watch-towers of the Grarde Doloureuse, which 
name the castle that day too well deserved. With difficulty the 
eonfessor mastered his own emotions to control those of the 
females on whom he attended, and who were now joined in their 
lamentation b^ many otheit — women, children, and infirm old 
men, the relatives of those whom they saw engaged in this unavail- 
ing contest. These helpless beings had been admitted to the 
castle for security's sake, and they had now thronged to the 
battlements, from, which Father Aldrovand found difficulty in 
making them descend, aware that the sight of them on the towers, 
that should have appeared lined with armed men, would be an 
additional encouragement to the exertions of the assailants. He 
urged the Lady Eveline to set an example to this group of help- 
less, yet intractable mourners. 

Preserving, at least endeavouring to preserve, even in the ex- 
tremity of grief, that composure which tiie manners of the times 
enjoined — for chivaby had its stoicism as well as phik)Sophy — 

♦ See Note B. Courage of the WeUh. 



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9S TALES OF THB CSEtUaADBBS, 

EveUiiA mpM in a Toiee whidi she would fain ha^e rendered 
firm, and whiefa was tremnloos in her despite —* ^ Yes, fiktber, yoa 
say" weM^-here is no longer ang^t left for maidens to look upon* 
warlike meed and konouved deed sunk whon yonder white plumo 
teooked the Moody ground. -*-Come> maidens, there is no longer 
am^t Idt ns to see— To mass, to mass — the tourney is over r* 

l^k»re was wildness in h^ tone, and when she rose, with th» 
air o! one who would lead out a proceesion, she staggered, and 
would have fidWa, but for the support of the confessor. Hastily 
wrapping her head in h^ mantle, as if ashamed of the agcmy « 
sriel w^eh ihe oould not restrain, and of whiefa her sohs and tbo 
tow meaning sounds that issued from undor the folds enreloping 
her fikee, deohur«d the excess, she 8u£fered Fathw Aldrovand to 
conduct her whither he would. 

^ Our gold,*' he sud, ^ has chan^ to brass, our silrer to droee, 
our wisdom to folly — it is His will, who confounds the counsels 
of the wise, and shortens the arm of the mighty. To the chapel 
— to the chapel, Lady Erdine ; and instead of vain repining^ let 
us pray to Grod and we saints to torn away their displeasure, and 
to save the feeble remnant ftom the jaws of the devouring woU" 

Thus speaking, he half led, half-supported Eveline, who was at 
the moment almost incapable of thought and action, to the castle- 
chapel, where, sinking before the altar, ^e assumed the attitude 
at least of devotion, though her thoughts, despite the pious words 
which her tongue faltered out mecl^niailly, wove upon the field 
of battle, beside the body of her slaughtered parent The rest of 
the mourners imitated their young lady in her devotional posture, 
and in tbo absence of her thoughts. The consciousness that so 
many of the garrison had been cut off in Raymond's incautious 
sallv, added to thdr sorrows the sense of personal insecnrity, 
which was exaggerated by the cruelties which were too cfita 
exercised by the enemy, who, in the heat of victory, weve aaoutr 
tomed to spare neither sex nor age. 

The monk, however, assumed among tiiem tilie tone of autiiarity 
which his diaracter warranted, rebuked their wailing and inefibo- 
tual complainto, and having, as he bought, brought tbem to such 
a state of mind as better became their condition, he left them to 
tiieir private devotions to indulge his own anxious curiosity by 
inquirrag into tiie defracee of the easfie. Upon tiie outward walk 
he found Wilkin Flammock, who, having done the office of a good 
and skilful captain in the mode of managing his artillery, and 
beating ba^ as we have already seen, the advanced guard of the 
enemy, was bow witili his own hand measuring out to his little 
garrison no stinted allowance of wine. 

<< Have a care, good Wilkin," said the father, « that thou dost 
not exceed in this matter. Wine is, thou knowest, like fire and 
water, an excellent servant, but a very bad master." 

'' It will be k)ng ere it overflow the deep and solid skulls of my 
•Qontrymen," said WiHdn Flamraock. <* Our Flemish courage is 



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TALK T. TBB BKlltOTfifet). 5S 

fite mat Flaadan b<»r8eB-- the one needs ^se upar^ and the othtf 
aiiist have a taste of the wi&e-pot ; hut, «redit me, fkHieri they 
are of an enduring gen^iillon, and will not shrink in tiie leashing. 
•^Bnt indeed, if I "wett to giTe the knayes a enp im^e than 
enongh, it were not altogether amisB, ateee they are like to have 
a pli&er the less." 

" How do yon mean !" cried Hm monk, starting ; ^ I tnist in 
the saints the i^roTirions have been cared for f " 

** Not M well as In yonr convent, good iSiither,^ replied Wilkin, 
with the same immoveable stohdlty of oonntenanoe. ** We had 
kept^ as yon know, too loUy a Christaias to have a very Ui Easter. 
Yon Welsh hounds, who heiped to eat up onr victuals, are now 
like to get into onr hold for the lack of them." 

^ Thon talkest mete fo&y," answered the monk ; ** orders wcM 
ISBt evening given by our lord (whose soul God assoilzie !) to 
fetch in the necessary supplies frmn the country around.'* 

* Ay, but the Welsh were too sharp set to permit us to do that 
at onr ease this morning, which should have been done weeks and 
months since. Our lo3 deceased, if deceased he be, was one of 
flioee who trusted to the edge of the sword, and even so hath come 
of It. Omnttiend me to a cross-bow and a well-victualled castle, 
if I must needs fij^t at alL*^ Yon kwk pale, my good &ther, a 
cnpof wine will revive you.** 

The uKndc m<ytioned away from him the nntasted cup, which 
Wilkin pressed him to with ctownish civility. ** We Imve now, 
indeed," he said, ** no refuge, save in |»*ay^ 1" 

<< Most tme, good fiither f again replied the impassible Flem- 
ing ; *^ pray therefore as much as you wilL I will contMit myself 
with lasting, which will come whether I will or no." — At this 
moment a horn was heard before the gate. >— << Look to the port* 
collis and the gate, ye knaves ! -^ What news, Neil Hansen f " 

* A messenger ftom the Welsh tarries at the Mill-hill, just 
wHfain shot of the crossbows ; he has a white flag, and demands 
admittance." 

^ Admit lum not, upon thy life, till we be prepared for him,'' 
ssid Wilkin. * Bend the bonny mangonel upon the place, wid 
shoot him if he dare to stir from the spot tfhtkt he stands till we 
get all prepared to receive him,*' said Fhunmock, in his native 
bngnage. ** And N^, thon honndsfoot, bestir thyself -^ let evety 
pike, luioe, and pole in the castle be ranged along the battlements, 
and pointed through the shot-holes — cut up some tapestry into 
the shape of banners, and shew them from the highest towers. ^ 
Be ready, when I give a signal, to strike naker,* and blow trum- 
pets, if we have any ; if not, some cow-horns— any thine for a 
niNse. And hark ye, Neil Hansen, do you, and four or five of 

Star fellows, go to tile armoury and dip on coats-of-mail ; our 
eth^landish corslets do not appal them so much. Then let the 



♦ ira*w.— Dmm. 



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54 TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 

Welsh tl^ef be blindfolded and brought m amongst us — Do jon 
hold up your heads and keep silence — leave me to deal with him 
— only have a care there be no English among us/' 

The monk, who in his travels had acquired some slight know* 
ledge of the Flemish language, had well-nigh started when he 
heard the last article in Wilkin's instructions to his countryman, 
but commanded himself, although a little surprised, both at this 
suspicious circumstance, and at the readiness and dexterity with 
which the rough-hewn Fleming seemed to adapt his preparations 
to the rules of war and of sound policy. 

Wilkin, on his part, was not very certain whether the monk 
had, not heard and understood more of what he said to his 
countryman, than what he had intended. As if to lull asleep any 
Buspioion which Father Aldrovand might entertain, he repeated 
to him in English most of the directions which he had given, 
adding, « Well, good father, what think you of it !" 

** Excellent well," answered the father, ** and done as if you 
had practised war from the cradle, instead of weaving broad- 
cloth." 

" Nay, spare not your jibes, father," answered Wilkin. — ** I 
know full well that you English think that Flemings have nought 
in their brainpan but sodden beef and cabbage ; yet you see there 
goes wisdom to weaving of webs." 

'^ Right, Master Wilkin Fhunmock," answered the &thei^ ; 
^ but, good Fleming, wilt thou tell me what answer thou wilt 
make to the Welsh Frince's summons t" 

. '< Reverend father, first tell me what the summons will be," 
replied the Fleming. 

'*To surrender this castle upon the instant," answered the 
monk. "'What will be your reply ?" 

" My answer will be. Nay — unless upon good composition." 

^ How, Sir Fleming ! 6iee you mention composition and the 
castle of the Grarde I&loureuse in one sentence !" said the monk. 

**Not if I may do better," answered the Fleming. **But 
would your reverence have me dally until the question amongst 
the garrison be, whether a plump priest or a fat Fleming will be 
the better flesh to furnish their snambles f " 

** Pshaw !" replied father Aldrovand, " Ihou canst not mean 
such folly. Relief must arrive within twenty-four hours at far- 
thest Raymond Berenger expected it for certain within such a 
space." 

^ Raymond Berenger has been deceived this morning in more 
matters than one," answered the Flemine. 

*' Hark thee, Flanderkin," answered me monk, whose retreat 
from the world had not altogether quenched his military habita 
and propensities, ^ I counsel thee to deal uprightly in this matter, 
as thou dost regard thine own life ; for here are as many English 
left alive, notwithstanding the slaughter of to-day as may well 
suffice to flmg the Flemish bull-frogs into the castle-ditch, should 



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TALE I. THE BBTKOTHEII. 55 

(hey have cause to think thou meanest falsely, in the keeping of 
this castle, and the defence of the Lady Eveline." 

** Let not your reverence he moved with unnecessary and idle 
(eaiBf* replied Wilkin Flammock — "I am castellane in this 
house, by conmiand of its lord, and what I hold for the advantage 
of mine service, that will I do." 

''But I," said the angry monk, '^ I am the servant of the Pope 
—the chaplain of this castle, wiUi power to bind and to unloose. 
I fear me thou art no true Christian, Wilkin Flammock, but dost 
lean to the heresy of the mountaineers. Thou hast refused to 
take the blessed cross — thou hast breakfasted, and drunk both 
ale and wine, ere thou hast heard mass. Thou art not to be 
trusted, man, and I will not trust thee — I demand to be present 
at the conference betwixt thee and the Welshman." 

**lt may not be, good father," said Wilkin, with the same 
smiling, heavy countenance, which he maintained on all occasions^ 
of life, however urgent ^ It is true, as thou sayest, good father, 
that I have mine own reasons for not marching quite so far as 
the gates of Jericho at present ; and lucky I have such reasons, 
ance I had not else been here to defend the gate of the Garde 
Boloureuse. It is also true that I may have been sometimes 
obliged to visit my mills earlier than the chaplain was called by 
his zeal to the altar, and that my stomach brooks not working ere 
1 break my fast. But for this, father, I have paid a mulct even 
to your worshipful reverence, and me^inks since you are pleased 
to remember the confession so exactly^you should not forget the 
penance and the absolution." 

The monk, in alluding to the secrets of the confessional, had 
gone a step beyond what the rules of his order and of the churdi 

Ciitted. He was baffled by the Fleming's reply, and finding 
unmoved by the charge of heresy, he could only answer, in 
some confusion, '' You refuse, then, to admit me to the conference 
with the Welshman!" 

** Reverend father," said Wilkin, "it altogether respectoth 
BecuUr matters. If aught of religious tenor should intervene, 
you shall be summoned without delay." 

** I will be there in spite of thee, thou Flemish ox," muttered 
the monk to himself, but in a tone not to be heard by the by- 
standers ;*and so speaking he left the battlements. 

Wilkin Flammock, a few minutes afterwards, having first seen 
that all was arranged on the battlements, so as to give an impose- 
ing idea of a strength which did not exist, descended to a small 
gnard-room, betwixt the outer and inner gate, where he was 
attended by half-a-dozen of his own people, cUsguised in the Nor- 
man armour which they had found in the armoury of the castle, 
--tii^ir strong, tall, and bulky forms, and motionless postures, 
<^smg them to look rather Uke trophies of some past age, than 
Hving and existing soldiers. Surrounded by these huge and in- 
animate figures, in a little vaulted room which almost excluded 



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56 TALES OF THE CRUSADBRS. 

dayUg^t, Fhunmock receired die Webb envoy, who waB led in 
blindfolded betwixt two Flemings, yet not so earefully watdied 
but HhMi Aey permitted him to have a glimpse of the preparations 
on the battlements, whieh had, in faet, been made chiefly for the 
purpose of imposing on him« For the same purpose an occairifmal 
clatter of arms was made without ; roiees were heard as if officers 
were going their rounds ; and other sounds of active preparation 
seemed to announce that a numerous and regular garrison was 
preparing to reoeiTe an attack* 

When the bandage was remoTed froip Jorwor&'s eyes, — for 
the same individual who had formeriy brought Gwenwyn's offer 
of alliance, now bare his summons of surrender, — he looked 
haughtily around him, and demanded to whom he was to ddiver 
&e commands of his master, the Gwenwyn, son of Cyn^toe, 
Vti^fse of Powys. 

^ His highness/' answered Flammock, with his usual smiling 
Indifference of manner, ** must be contented to treat with Wilkin 
Flammock of the Fulling-nulls, deputed governor of the Garde 
Ddonreuse." 

^ Thou deputed governor !*' exclaimed Jorworth ; ^ thou ! — 
« Low-country weaver ! — it is impossible. Low as they are, the 
English Crogan* cannot have sunk to a p(^nt so low, as to be 
commanded by thee! — these men seem English, to them I will 
dettver my message/' 

** You may if you will," replied Wilkin, * but if they return 
you any answer save by signs, you shall call me tckdm," 

" Is this true 1" said the Welsh envoy, looking towards the 
BMiMit-anns, as tiiey seemed, by whom Fhunmock was attended ; 
^ an you really come to this pass ! I thought that the mere 
having been Ixnni on British earth, though the children of spoilers 
and invaders, had inspired you with too much pride to brook the 
yoke of a base mechanic. Or, if you are not courageous, should 
you not be cautious 1 — Well speaks the proverb. Wo to him 
tiiatwill trust a stranger! — Still mute — still silent! — answer 
ne by word or ngn — Do you really call and acknowledge him as 
your leader !" 

The men in armour with one accord nodded their casques in 
reply to Jorworth's question, and then remained motionless as 
before. 

The Welshman, with the acute genius of his country, suspected 
there was something in this which he could not entirely compre- 
hend, but, preparing himself to be upon his guard, he proceeded 
as foUows : ^ Be it as it may, I care not who hears the message 
of my sovereign, since it brings pardon and morcy to the inhabi- 
tants of this Castell an Carrig,f which you have odled the Garde 
Doloureuse, to cover the usurpation of the territory by the change 
of the name. Upon surrender of the same to the Prince of 

* This Is a somewhat contumelious epithet applied by the Welsh to the 
fOtetleortheOnUg. 



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TALK I. rSB BBTBOTHED. 67 

Towyn, with its dependendw, and with tfat tmoB 'wbitik it ooif 
taina, and with the maiden Eveline Berenger, all within the oastle 
Aall depart unmolested, and have safe-eondnet wbcxvaoever they 
will, to go beyond the marches of the Cymry.*' 

^ And how, if we obey not this sommons 1" said the imper* 
tunable Wilkin Blammock. 

^ Then shall your portion be with Raymond Bersnger, your 
farte kader,** repHed Jorwortfa, his eyes, while he was speaking, 
glancing with me yindictire ferocity wUeh dictated his answer. 
** So many strangers as be here amongst ye, so many bodies to 
the ravens, so many heads to the gibbet ! — It is long since the 
kHes have had sodi a banquet ^ lurdane Fkmiogs and fiilse 
Saxons." 

** Frirad Jmrwortii," said WiUdn, ^ if sndi be thy only message, 
bear mine answer back to thy master, That wise men trust not to 
Ute words of others that safety, whidi they can secure by their 
own deeds. We have walls high and strong enough, deep moatsy 
and plenty of nranition, both longbow and arUaat. We will keep 
^be castle, trusting the castle wiU ke^ us, till God shall send us 



^ Do not peril your fives on such an issue, " said the Welsh 
emissary, changing his language to the Flemish, which, from 
occasional communication with Uiose of that nation in Pembroke- 
shire, he spoke fluently, and which he now adopted, as if to con- 
ceal the purport of his discourse from the supposed English in 
the apartment ^ Hark thee hither,*' be proceeded, ** good 
Fleming. Knowest thou not that he in whom is your trust, the 
Oonfftable De Lacy, hath bound Inmsdf by his vow to engage in 
DO quarrel tiU he crosses the sea, and cannot come to your aid 
without perjury f He and the other Lords Marchers have drawn 
their forces far northward to ioin the host of Crusaders. What 
will it avail yon to put us to ^e toil and trouUe of a tong siege, 
when you can hope no reteue !'' 

^ And what will it avail me more,'' said Wilkin, answering in 
his native language, and looking at the Welshman fixedly, yet 
with a countenance from which all expression seemed studiously 
banished, and which exhibited, upon features otherwise tolerable, 
a remarkable compound of dulness and simplicity, ** what will it 
avail me whether your trouble be great or small !" 

^ Gome, friend Fkunmock," said the Welshman, ** frame not 
thyself more unapprehensive than nature hath formed thee. The 
gl^ is dark, but a sunbeam can lieht the side of it. Thy utmost 
eflbrts cannot prevent the fall <» this castle ; but thou mayst 
hasten it, and the doing so shall avail thee much." Thus speakings 
he drew close up to Wilkin, and sunk his voice to an insinuating 
whisper, as he said, ** Never did the withdrawing of a bar, or the 
raising of a portcuHis, bring such vantage to Fleming as they may 
to thee, if thou wUt." 

^ I only know/' said Wilkin, ** that the drawing the one, and 



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58 TALES OF THE CBUSADERS. 

tile dropping the other, have cost, me my whole worldly sub* 
stance.*' 

** Fleming, it shall be compensated to thee with an overflow- 
ing measure. The liberality of Gwenwyn is as the summer 
rain." 

'* My whole mills and buildings have been this morning bomt 
to the earth " 

" Thou shalt have a thousand marks of silver, man, in the 
place of thy goods," said the Welshman ; but the Fleming con- 
tinued, without seeming to hear him, to number up his losses. 

^ My lands are forayed, twenty kine driven off, and ** 

^ Threescore shall replace them," interrupted Jorworth, ^ chosen 
from the most bright-skinned of the spoil." 

^ But my daughter — ^but the Lady Eveline" — said the Fleming, 
with some slight change in his monotonous voice, which seemed 
to express doubt and perplexity — ^ You are cruel conquerorsy 
and " 

'< To those who resist us we are fearful," said Jorworth, ^ but 
not to such as shall deserve clemency by surrender. Gwenwyn 
will forget the contumelies of Raymond, and raise his daughter to 
high honour among the daughters of the Cymry. For thine 
own child, form but a wish for her advantage, and it shall be 
fulfilled to the uttermost Now, Fleming, we understand each 
other." 

*' I understand thee, at least," said Flammock. 

**^ And I thee, I trust t" said Jorworth, bending his keen, wild 
blue eye on the stolid and unexpreeteive face of the Netherlander, 
like an eager student who seeks to discover some hidden and 
mysterious meaning in a passage of a classic author, the direct 
import of which seems trite and trivial. 

" You believe that you understand me^' said Wilkin ; ** but 
here lies the difficulty, — which of us shall trust the other I" 

** Darest thou ask !" answered Jorworth. ** Is it for thee, or 
such as thee, to express doubt of the purposes of the Prince of 
Powysl" 

^ I know them not, good Jorworth, but through thee ; and well 
I wot thou art not one who will let thy traffic miscarry for want 
of aid from the breath of thy mouth." 

'< As I am a Christian man," said Jorworth, hurrying assevera- 
tion on asseveration — ^ by the soul of my father — by the faith 
of my mother — by the black rood of " 

^ Stop, good Jorworth— thou heapest thine oaths too thickly on 
each oliier, for me to value them to the right estimate," said 
Flammock ; '' that which is so lightly pledged, is sometimes not 
tliought worth redeeming. Some part of tiie promised guerdon 
in hand the whilst, were worth an hundred oaths." 

" Thou suspicious churl, darest thou doubt my word !" 

" No — by no means," answered Wilkin ; — ** ne'ertheleBB, I 
will believe thy deed more readi^." 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED; 59 

* To the jxnnt^ Flemiog/' said Jorwopth— ** Wliat wouldst thou 
have of me V* 

^Let me have some present sight of the money thou didst 
promise, and I will think of the rest of thy proposal." 

^ Base silver-hroker !" answered Jorworth, *^ thinkest thou the 
Piinoe of Powys has as many money-bags, as the merchants of 
thy land of sale and barter ! He gathers treasures by his con- 
quests as the waterspout sucks up water by its strength, but it is 
to disperse them among his foUowers, as the cloudy column 
restores its contents to earth and ocean. The silver that I promise 
thee has yet to be gathered out of the Saxon chests — nay, the 
casket of Berenger himself must be ransacked to make up the 
tale." 

** Methinks I oould do that myself, (having full power in the 
castle,) and so save you a labour," said the Fleming. 

** IVne,*' answered Jorworth, '^ but it would be at the expense 
of a cord and a noose, whether the Welsh took the place or the 
Normans relieved it — the one would expect their booty entire — 
the other their countryman's treasures to be delivered undimi* 
nished." 

** I may not gainsay that,*' said the Fleming. ^ Well, say I 
were content to trust you thus far, why not return mv cattle, 
which are in your own hands, and at your disposal I If you do 
not pleasure me in something beforehand, what can I expect of 
you afterwards !*' 

'^I would pleasure you in a greater matter," answered the 
equally suspicious Welshman. "But what would it avail thee to 
have thy cattle within the fortress ! They can be better cared 
for on the plain beneath." 

•* In faith," replied the Fleming, ** thou sayst truth — they will 
be but a trouble to us here, where we have so many already pro> 
vided for the use of the garrison. — And yet, when I consider it 
mare closely, we have enough of forage to maintain all we have, 
and more. Now, my cattle are of a peculiar stock, brought from 
the rich pastures of Flanders, and I desire to have them restored 
ere your axes and Welsh hooks be busy with their hides." 

<< You shall have them this night, hide and horn," said Jor* 
worth ; ^ it is but a small earnest of a great boon." 

•* Thanks to your munificence," said the Fleming ; '^ I am a 
simple-minded man, and bound my wishes to the recovery of my 
own property." 

«.Thou wilt be ready, then, to deliver the castle !" said Jor- 
worth. 

*« Of that we will talk farther to-morrow," said Wilkin Fkm- 
mock ; ^ if these English and Normans should suspect such a 
purpose, we should have wild work — they must be fully dispersed 
ere I can hold farther conununication on the subject. Mean- 
while, I pray thee, depart suddenly, and as if offended with the 
tenor of our discourse." 



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60 TALB8 OF THE CBC78ADBB8. 

" Yet would I fain know something more fixed and abwlntey'* 
said Jorworth. 

<< Impossible — impossible," said the Fleming ; ^see jroa not 
ponder tall fellow begins already to handle his da^er-*~Go henoe 
m haste, and angrily — and forget not the cattle.^ 

<< I will not forget them,'* said Jorworth ; << bat if thoa IcMp 
not faith with us '* 

So speaking, he left the apartment with a gesture of menace^ 
partly really Greeted to Wilkin himself, partly assumed in oonse- 
quenoe of his advice. Flammock replied in English, as if tliat 
all around might understand what he said, 

" Do thy worst, Sir Welshman ! I am a true man ; I defy the 
proposals of rendition, and will hold out this castle to thy shame 
and thy master's! — Here — let him be blindfolded onoemore, 
and returned in safety to his attendants without ; the next Welsh- 
man who appears berore the gate of the Garde Dok>urease^ shall 
be more sharply received." 

The Welshman was blindfolded and withdrawn, when, aa 
Wilkin Flammock himself left the guard-room, one of the seem- 
ing men-at-arms who had been present at this interview, said in 
his ear, in English, *^ Thou art a false traitor, Flammock, and 
Shalt die a traitor's death !" 

Startled at this, the Fleming would have questioned the man 
fEtrther) but he had disi^ipeared so soon as the words were uttered. 
Flammock was disconcerted by this circumstance, which shewed 
him that his interview with Jorworth had been observed, and its 
purpose known or conjectured, by some one who was a stnmser 
to his confidence, and might thwart his intentions ; and he quicily 
after learned that this was the case* 



CHAPTER VI. 

Blaned Mary, mother dear, 
To a maiden bend thine ear; 
Virgin undefiled, to Uiee 
A wretched virgin bends the knee. 

Hpnm to Ou Virpm. 

Thb dauriiter ci the alangfatered Raymond had descended ftmn 
the elevated station whence 9he had beheld the field €i battle, in 
the agony of grief natural to % child whoee eyes have behdd the 
death of an honoured and beloved father. But her station, and 
the principles of chivalry in which she had been trained up, did 
not permit any prolonged or needless indulgence of inaetive 
sorrow. In raising the young and beautiful of the female sex to 
the rank of princesses, or rather goddesses, the sfnrit of that 
singular system exacted from them, in requital, a tone of cha- 
racter, and a line of conduct, superior and something oontradio- 



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TALE I. THE BETBOTHEP. 61 

tny to tliftt ci natural or merely human ileeliBg. Its heroines 
frequently res^nbled portraits shewn by an artificial light — 
strong and Imninoos, and which placed in hieh relief the objects 
on which it was tamed ; but having still someming of adv^ititious 
mlendoor, which, compared with that of the natural day^ se^oded 
iparing and exaggerated. 

It was not permitted to tiie orphan of the Grarde Ddonreiise, 
the daughter of a line of heroes, whose stem' was to be found in 
tiie race of Tbor, Balder, Odin, and other deified warriors of the 
North, whoHe beauty was the theme of a hundred minstrels, and 
her eyes tbe leading star of half the chivalry of the warlike 
marches of Wales, to mourn her sire with the inefibctual tears of 
a village maideu. Young as she was, and horrible as was the 
incident which she had but that instant witnessed, it was not 
altogether so appalling to her as to a maiden whose eye had not 
been accustomed to the rough, and often fatal sports of chivalry, 
and whose residence had not been among scenes and men whexe 
war and deatli had been the unceasing theme of every tongue, 
whose imagination had not been familiarized with wild and bl(^y 
events, or, finally, who had not been trained up to consider an 
honourable ^ death under shield," as that of a field of battle was 
termed, as a more desirable termination to the life of a warrior, 
tiian that lingering and unhonoured fate which comes slowly on, 
to conclude &e listless and helpless inactivity of prolonged old 
age. Eveline, while she wept for her father, felt her bosom 
l^w when she recollected that he died in the blaze of his fame, 
and amidst heaps of his slaughtered enemies; and wboi date 
thought of the exigencies of her own situation, it waa with the 
detennination to defend her own liberty, and to avenee her 
Other's death, by every means which Heaven had left within her 
power. 

The aids of religion were not forgotten ; and according to the 
custom of the times, and the doctrines of the Roman church, she 
endeavoured to propitiate the favour of Heaven by vows as well 
as prayers. In a small crypt, or oratory, adjdning to the chapel, 
was hung over an altar-piece, on which a hunp constantly burned, 
a small picture of the Virgin Mary, revered as a household and 
pecoliar deity by the family o£ Berenger, one of whose ancestors 
had brought it firom the Holy Land, whither he had gone upon 
pilgrimage. It was of the period of the Lower Empire, a Grecian 
paintinff, not unlike those which in Catholic countries are often 
nnputed to the Evangelist Luke. The crypt in which it was 
phused was accounted a shrine of uncommon sanctity — na^, sup- 
posed to have displayed miracuk)us powers ; and EveUne, by the 
daily garland of flowers which she offered b^ore the painting, and 
by the constant prayers with which they were accompanied, had 
constitoted herself tlie peculiar votaress of Our Lady of the 
Garde Doloureuse, for so the picture was named. 

Nov, apart from others, alone, and in secrecy, sinking in the 



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02 TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 

extremity of her sorrow before the shrine of her patroness, slie^ 
besought the protection of kindred purity for the defence of her 
fireedom and honour, and invoked Vengeance on the wild and 
treacherous chieftain who had slain her father, and was now 
beleaguering her place of strength. Not only did she vow a large 
donative in lands to the shrine of the protectress whose aid she 
implored ; but the oath passed her lips, (even though they fal- 
tered, and though something within her remonstrated against the 
vow,) that whatsoever favoured knight Our Lady of the Garde 
Doloureuse might employ for her rescue, should obtain from her 
in guerdon whatever boon she might honourably grant, were it 
that of her virgin hand at the holy altar. Taught as she was to 
believe, by the assurances of many a knight, that such a sur- 
render was the highest boon which Heaven could bestow, she felt 
as discharging a debt of gratitude when she placed herself en- 
tirely at the disposal of iSe pure and blessed patroness in who«e 
aid she confided. Perhaps ihere lurked in ibia devotion sonie 
earthly hope of which she was herself scarce conscious, and which 
reconciled her to the indefinite sacrifice, thus freely offered. The 
Virgin, (this flattering hopb might insinuate,) kindest and most 
benevolent of patronesses, will use compassionately the power re- 
signed to her, and he will be the favoured champion of Maria, 
upon whom her votaress would most willingly confer favour. 

But if there was such a hope, as something selfish will often 
mingle with our noblest and purest emotions, it arose unconscious 
of Eveline herself, who, in the full assurance of implicit faith, 
and fixing on the representative of her adoration, eyes in which 
the most earnest supplication, the most humble confidence, 
struggled with unbidden tears, was perhaps more beautiful thah 
when, young as she was, she was selected to bestow the prize 6f 
chivalry in the lists of Chester. It was no wonder that, in such 
a moment of high excitation, when prostrated in devotion before 
a being of whose power to protect her, and to make her protec- 
tion assured by a visible sign, she doubted nothing, the Lady 
Eveline conceived she saw with her own eyes the acceptance ol* 
her vow. As she gazed on the picture wilJi an overstrained eye, 
and an imagination heated with enthusiasm, the expression 
seemed to alter from the hai'd outline, fashioned by the Greek 
painter ; the eyes appeared to become animated, and to return 
with looks of compassion the suppliant entreaties of the votaress, 
and the mouth visibly arranged itself into a smile of inexpressible 
sweetness. It even seemed to her that the head made a gentle 
inclination. 

Overpowered by supernatural awe at appearances, of which 
her faith permitted her not to question tlie reality, the Lady Eve- 
line folded her arms on her bosom, and prostrated her forehead 
on the pavement, as the posture most fitting to listen to divine 
communication. 

But her vision went not so far ; there was neither sound nor 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. B^ 

▼oiee, and when, after stealing her eyes all around the crypt in 
which she knelt, she again raised them to the figure of Our 
Lady, the features seemed to be in the form in which the hraner 
had sketched them, saving that, to Eveline's imagination, they 
Btill retained an august and yet gracious expression, which she 
had not before remarked upon the countenance. With awful re- 
verence, almost amounting to fear, yet comforted, and even elated, 
with the visitation she had witnessed, the maiden repeated again 
and again the orisons which she thought most grateful to the ear 
of her benefactress ; and rising at length, retired backwards, as 
from the presence of a sovereign, until she attained the outer 
di^»el. 

Here one or two females still knelt before the sainte which the 
walls and niches presented for adoration ; but the rest of the 
terrified suppliants, too anxious to prolong their devotions, had 
dispersed through the castle to learn tidings of their friends, and 
to obtain some refreshment, or at least some place of repose for 
themselves and their families. 

Bowing her head, and muttering an ave to each saint as she 
passed h^ image, (for impending danger makes men observant o( 
the rites of devotion,) the Lady Eveline had almost reached the 
door of the chapel, when a man-at-arms, as he seemed, entered 
hastily ; and, with a louder voice than suited the holy place, un- 
less when need was most urgent, demanded the Lady Eveline. 
Impressed with the feelings of veneration which the late scene 
bad produced, she was about to rebuke his military rudeness, 
when he spoke again, and in anxious haste, " Daughter, we are 
betrayed !'* and though the form, and the coat-of-mail which 
covered it, were those of a soldier, the voice was that of Father 
Aldrovand, who, eager and anxious at the same time, disengaged 
himself from the mail hood, and shewed his countenance. 

** Father," she said, ^ what means this ! Have you forgotten 
tiie confidence in Heaven which you are wont to recommend, 
that you bear other arms than your order assigns to you !'* 

<* It may come to that ere long," said Father Aldrovand ; ^ for 
I was a soldier ere I was a monk. But now I have donnM this 
harness to discover treachery, not to resist force. Ah ! my be- 
loved daughter — we are dreadfully beset — foemen without — 
traitors within I The false Fleming, Wilkin Flammock, is treats 
ing for the surrender of the castle V* 

^ Who dares say so I" said a veiled female, who had been 
kneeling unnoticed in a sequestered comer of the chapel, but 
who now started up and came boldly betwixt Lady Eveline and 
the monk. 

** Go hence, thou saucy minion," said the monk, surprised at 
this bold interruption ; ** this concerns not thee." 

*^ But it doth concern me," said the damsel, throwing back her 
veil, and discovering the juvenile countenance of Rose, the 
dai^iter of Wilkin Flammock, her eyes sparkling, and her 



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94 TALES OF THE CRUSADBB0, 

cheeks blushing with Anger, tlie yehemenoe of whidi made a 
singular contrast with the very fair complexion, and almost in* 
fantine features of the speaker, whose whole form and figure was 
that of a girl who has scarce emerged from childhood, and .'odeed 
whose general manners were as gentle and bashful as they now 
seemed bold, impassioned, and undaunted. — " Doth it not ooncera 
me," she said, " that my father's honest name should be tainted 
with treason ! Doth it not concern the stream when the fountain is 
troubled ! It doth concern me, and I will know the authmr of the 
calumny." 

<^ Damsel," said Ereline, ^ restrain thy useless passion ; the 
good father, though he cannot intentionally calunmiate thy father^ 
speaks, it may be, from false report" 

^ As I am an unworthy priest," said the father, ** I speak from 
the report of my own ears. Upon the oath of my order, myself 
heard this Wilkin Flammock chaffering with the Welshman for 
the surrender of the Grarde Doloureuse. By help of this hauberk 
and mail hood, I gained admittance to a conference where he 
thought there were no English ears. They spoke Flemish too, 
but I knew the jargon of dd." 

'' The Flemish," said the angry maiden, whose headstrong pas- 
non led her to speak first in answer to the last insult offered, ^ is 
no jargon like your piebald English, half Norman, half SiULon, 
but a noble Grotnic tongue, spoken by the brare warriors who 
fought against the Roman Kaisars, when Britain bent the seek 
to ttiem — and as for this he has said of Wilkin Flammock," she 
continued, collecting her ideas into more order as she went on, 
** believe it not, my dearest lady ; but, as you value the honour of 
your own noble lather, confide, as in the Evangelists, in the 
honesty of mine !" This she spoke with an imploring tone of 
voice, mingled with sobs, as if her heart had been brea^g. 

Eveline endeavoured to soothe her attendant. ** Rose," she 
said, in this evil time suspicions will light on the best men, and 
misunderstandings will arise among the best friends. Let us 
hear the good rather state what he hath to charge upon your 
parent. Fear not but that Wilkin shall be heard in his defence. 
Thou wert wont to be quiet and reasonable." 

** I am neither quiet nor reasonable on this matter," said Bose, 
with redoubled indignation ; " and it is ill of you, lady, to listen 
to the falsehoods of that reverend mummer, who is neither true 
priest nor true soldier. But I will fetch one who shall confront 
him either in casque or cowl." 

So saying, she went hastily out of the chapel, while the monk, 
after some pedantic circumlocution, acquainted the Lady Eveline 
with wliat he had overheard betwixt Jorworth and Wilkin ; and 
proposed to her to draw together the few English who were in the 
castle, and take possession of the innermost square tower ; a keep 
whicl^ as usual in Gothic fortresses of the N(»*naan period, was 
situated so as to make considerable defeooe, even after the as* 



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TALE I. THE BETKOTHEp. 6^ 

isrior ^oduB of the castle, which it commanded, were ia the hand 
of the enemy. 

« Father," said Eveline, still confident in the vision she had 
lately witnessed, " this were good counsel in extremity ; but 
otherwise, it were to create the very evil we fear, by setting our 
^anison at odds amongst themselves. I have a strong, and not 
unwarranted confidence, good father, in our blessed Lady of thi^ 
.Garde Doloureuse,.that we shall attain at once vengeance on our 
barbarous enemies, and escape from our present jeopardy ; and 
I call you to witness the vow I have made, that to him whom 
Our Lady should employ to work us succour, I will refuse 
nothing, were .it .n^ father's inheritance, or the hand of his 
daughter." 

" Aw MO'Tta ! A^ Regina CaHi !" said the priest ; ** on a 
rock more sure ^ou could not have founded your trust. — But, 
daughter," he continued, after the proper ejaculation had been 
ma<k, '' have you never heard, even by a liint, that there was a 
treaty for your hand betwixt our much honoured lord, of whoofi 
we are.crueUy b^?eft, (m^ God assoilzie his soul !) and the great 
house of .Lacy !" 

" Soipetbihg >I may hav« heard," said Eveline, dropping her 
eyes, while , a slight tjnge suffused her cheek ; " but I refer me to 
the disposal of Our Lady of Succour and Consolation." 

As she spoke, Rose entered the chapel with the same vivacity 
she had sliewn in leaving it, leading by the hand her father, 
whose sluggish though firm step, vacant countenance, and heavy 
demeanour, formed the strongest contrast to the rapidity of her 
motions, and the anxious animation of her address. Her task of 
dragging him forward might have reminded the spectator of some 
of those ^<^ent i^onuments, on which a small cherub, singularly 
inadequate to the task, is often represented as hoisting upward 
towarda the empyrean the fleshly bulk of some ponderous tenant of 
the tomb, whose disproportioned weight bids rair to render inef- 
fectual- the.be^evolent and spirited exertions of its fluttering guide 
and assistant. 

" Roschen — my child — what grieves thee !" said the Nether- 
lander, as he yielded to his daughter's violence witli a smile, 
which, being on the countenance of a father, had more of expres- 
sion and feeling than those which seemed to have made their 
constant dwelling upon his lips. 

** Here stands my father," said the impatient maiden ; " im- 
peach him with treason, who can or dare ! There stands Wilkin 
Flammock, son of Dieterick, the Cramer of Antwerp, — let those 
aQcuse him to his face who slandered him behind his back !" 

** Speak, Father Aldrovand," said the Lady Eveline ; " we are 
young in our lordship, and, alas ! the duty liath descended upon 
us in an evil hour ; yet we will, so may God and Our Lady help 
us, .bear and judge of your accusation to the utmost of our 
pow^r.** 

VOL. XIX. B 



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116 TALES OF THE CRUSADEBS. 

« This Wilkin Flammock," said the vumk, «* however bold he 
hath made himself in villainy, dares not deny that I heard him 
with my own ears treat for the surrender of the castle." 

" Strike him, father !*' said the indignant Rose, — " strike the 
disguised mummer I The st&el hauberk may be struck, though 
not the monk's frock — strike him, or tell him that he lies 
foaUy r 

" Peace, Roschen, thou art mad,** said her father, angrily ; 
** the monk hath more truth than sense about him, and I would 
his ears had been farther off when he thrust them into what con- 
cerned him not." 

Rose's countenance fell when she heard her fiither bluntly 
avow the treasonable communication of which she had thought 
him incapable — she dropt the hand by which she had dragged 
him into the chapel, and stared on the Lady Eveline, with eyes 
which seemed starting from their sockets, and a countenance 
'from which the blood, with which it was so lately highly coloured, 
had retreated to garrison the heart. 

Eveline looked upon the culprit with a countenance in which 
sweetness and dignity were mingled with sorrow. ** Wilkin,** 
she said, " I could not have believed this. What I on the very day 
of thy confiding benefactor's death, canst thqu have been tam- 
pering with his murderers, to deliver up the castle, and betray 
thy trust ! — But I will not upbraid thee — I deprive thee of the 
trust reposed in so unworthy a person, and appoint thee to be 
kept in ward in the western tower, till God send us relief ; when, 
it may be, thy daughter's merits shall atone for thy offences, and 
save farther punishment — See that our conunands be presently 
obeyed." 

** Yes — yes — yes !" exclaimed Rose, hurrying one word on 
the other as fast and vehemently as she could articulate — ^ Let 
us go — let us go to the darkest dungeon — darkness befits us 
better than light.*' 

The monk, on the other hand, perceiving that the Fleming 
made no motion to obey the mandate of arrest, came forward, in 
a manner more suiting his ancient profession, and present disguise, 
than his spiritual character ; and with the words, ^ I attach tliee, 
Wilkin Flammock, of acknowledged treason to your liege lady,*' 
would have laid hand upon him, had not the Fleming stepper 
back and warned him off, with a menacing and determined gesture, 
while he said, — " Ye are mad I — all of you English are mad 
when the moon is full, and my silly girl hath caught the malady. 
— Lady, your honoured father gave me a charge, which I purpose 
to execute to the best for all parties, and you cannot, being a 
minor, deprive me of it at ^y our idle pleasure. — Father Aldro- 
vand, a mouk makes no lawful arrests. — Daughter Roschen, 
hold your peace and dry your eyes — you are a fool.** 

** I am, I am," said Rose, drying her eyes and regaining her 
elasticity of manner — " I am indeed a fool, and worse than a 



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TALB I. THE BETROTHED. €7 

fody for a moment to doubt my father's probity. — Confide in 
him, dearest lady ; he is wise thoogh he is grave, and kind 
though he is plain and homely in his speech. Should he prove 
fiUse he will &re the worse ! for I will plunge myself from the 
pinnacle of the Warder's Tower to the bottom of the moat, and 
he shall lose his own daughter tor betraying his master's." 

** This is all frenzy," said the monk — " Who trusts avowed 
traitors I — Here, Normans, English, to the rescue of your liege 
lady — Bows and bills — bows and bills !" 

^ You may spare your throat for your next homily, good 
fieither," said the Netherlander, ^ or caU in good Flemish, since 
you understand it, for to no other language will those within 
hearing reply." 

' He then approached the Lady Eveline with a real or affected 
air of clumsy kindness, and something as nearly approaching to 
courtesy as his manners and features could assume. He bade 
her good -night, and assuring her that he would act for the befft., 
left the cha^. The monk was about to break forth into revii- 
ings, but Eveline, with more prudence, checked his zeal. 

^ I cannot," she said, ** but hope that this man's intentions 
are honest " 

•* Now, God's blessing on you, lady, for that very word I" said 
Rose, eagerly interrupting her, and kissing her hand. 

^ But if unhappily they are doubtful," continued Eveline, *^ it 
is not by reproach that we can bring him to a better purpose. 
Good father, give an eye to the preparations for resistance, and 
see nought omitted that our means furnish for the defence of the 
castie." 

** Fear nothing, my dearest daughter," said Aldrovand ; ** there 
are still some English hearts amongst us, and we will rather kill 
and eat the Flemings themselves, uian surrender the castie." 

^ That were food as dangerous to come by as bear's venison, 
&ther," answered Rose, bitterly, still on fire with the idea that 
the monk treated her nation witii suspicion and contumely. 

On these terms they separated — the women to indulge their 
fears and sorrows in private grief, or alleviate them by private 
devotion ; the monk to try to discover what were the real pur-. 
poses ci Wilkin Flammock, and to counteract them if possible, 
should they seem to indicate treachery. His eye, however, though 
sharpened by strong suspicion, saw nothing to strengthen his 
fears, excepting that the Fleming had, with considerable military 
skill, placed the principal posts of the castie in the charge of his 
own countrymen, which must make any attempt to dispossess him 
of his present authority both difficult and dangerous. The monk 
at length retired, summoned by the duties of we evening service, 
and with the determination to be stirring with the light the next 
morning. 



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68 TALES OF THE CRUflADBM. 



CHAPTER VIL 

Oh, SBdly shines the morning nm 

On Imgue^'d castle wall, 
When bastion, tower, and batttemflott 

Seem nodding to their fiOL 

OkiBaUad, 

True to his resolution, and telfing his beads as he went, that ha 
might lose no time, Father Aldrovand began his roonds in the 
castle so soon as daylight had toudied the top of the eastern hoxi« 
zon. A natural instinct led him first to those stalls which, had 
Ihe fortress been properly victualled for a siege, ought to have 
been tenanted by cattle ; and great was his delight to see more 
than a score of fat kine and bidlodks in the place which had last 
night been empty I One of them had already been carried to the 
shambles, and a Fleming or two, who played butchers on the 
occasion, were dividing the carcass for the cook's use. The good 
father had weH-nigh cried oat, a miracle ; but, not to be too pre- 
cipitate, he limited his transport to a private exclamation in honour 
of Our Lady ofiihe Garde Ddlonreuse. 

** Who tfUks of lack of provender t — who speaks of surrender 
now V* he said. ^ Here is enough 'to maintain us till ^Hugo de 
Lacy arrives, were he to sail back from Cyprus to our relief. I 
did purpose to have fasted this morning, as well to save vic- 
tuals as on a religious score' ; but tiie Uessings of the-saints most 
not be slighted. — Sir Cook, let me have half a yard or so of 
broiled beef presently ; bid the pantler send me amanchet, and ^ 
the butler a cup of wine. T will take a running breakfast on the 
western battlements." ♦ 

Atiihis place, which was rather tiie weakest point of the Grarde 
Doloureuse, the good father found Wilkin Flammock anxiously 
superintending the necessary measures of defence. He greeted 
him courteou^y, congratulated him on the stock of provisions with 
which the castle haid been supplied during the night, and was 
inquiring how they had been so happily introduced through the 
Welsh l^egers, when Wilkin took the first occasion to intemqpt 
him. 

<' Of all this another time, good &ther ; but I wi^ at pres^tt, 
and before other discourse, to consult thee on a matter whi<^ 
presses my conscience, and moreover deeply concerns my worldly 
estate.*' 

^ Speak on, my excellent son," said the father, conceiving that 
he should thus gain the key to Wilkin's real intentions. ''Oh, -a 
tender conscience is a jewel:! and he that will not listen when it 

* Old Henry Jenkins, in his Recollections of the Abbacies before their disso- 
hition, has preserved the fiict, that roant-beef was delivered out to th« guesti* 
■ot bjr weight, but by i 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHS0. 09 

mMif ' Poor ont thy doubts into the ear of the priest,' shall one 
day have his own dolorous outcries choked with fire and brimstone. 
Thou wert ever of a tender conscience, son Wilkin, though thou 
hast but » rough and borrel bearing." 

<< Well, then,'* said Wilkin, << you are to know, good ftbther, that 
I have had some dealings with my neighbour, Jan Vanwelt, con- 
oernxng^ my daughter Rose, and that he has paid me certain 
gUders on condiuon I will match her to him." 

** Pdukw, phsaw 1 my good son," said the dis^pointed confessor, 
'^ this gear can lie oyer — this is no time for marrying or giving 
in marriage, when we are all like to be murdered." 

^ Nay, but hear me, good fitther," said the Fleming, ** for this 
point of conscience concerns the present case more nearly than 
yea wot of. — You must know I have no will to bestow Rose on this 
same Jan Vanwelt, who is old, and of ill conditions ; and I would 
knew of you whether I may, in conscience, refuse him my 
oonsentr 

''Truly," said Fath^ Aldrovand, ''Rose is a pretty hMs, 
though scnne^iiiat hasty ; and I think you may honestly wi&idraw 
your consent, always on paying bads the gUders you have re- 
odved." 

" But th^e lies the pinch, good &ther," said the Fleming — 
" the refunding this money will reduce me to utter poverty. The 
Welsh have destroyed my substance ; and this handful of money 
is all, God help me ! on which I must begin the world again." 

" Nevertheless, son Wilkin," said Aldrovand, " thou must keep 
thy WMrdy or pay the forfeit ; for what saith the text ! Qm$ ha- 
hUabUim tahemacvlOi qau requietcet in monU sancta? — Who 
shall ascend to the tabomacle, and dwell in the holy mountain I 
Is it not answered again, Qisi jurat proximo et non decipit ? — Go 
to, By soo — break not thy plighted word for a little filthy lucre 
— better is an empty stomach and an hungry heart with a clear 
oonsdeBce, than a fatttod on with imquitv and word-breaking. — 
Sawest thou notour late noble lord, who (may his soul be happy I) 
chose rather to die in unequal battle, like a true knight, than live 
ft perjured man, though he had but spoken a rash word to a 
Welahman over a wine flaek 1" 

" Alas \ then," said the Fleming, "this is even what T feared ! 
We must e'en render up the castle, or restore to the Welshman, 
Jorworth, the cattle, by means of which I had schemed to victual 
and defend it." 

" How — wherefore — what dost tiiou mean I" said the monk, 
in astoniBiiment. " I speak to thee of Rose Flammock, and Jan 
Van-devil, or whatever you call him, and you reply with talk about 
de and castles, and i wot not wh<»t !" 

' So please you, holy father, I did but speak in parables. This 
ik was the daughter I had promised to deliver over — the 
Welshman is Jan Vanwelt, and the gilders were the cattle he has 
sent itv as a part-payment beforehanid of my goerdoa*" 



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70 TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 

" Piurables I" said the monk, colouring with anger at the tiiek 

Sat on him ; ^ what has a boor like thee to do with parables t— 
Jut I forgive thee — I foivive thee." 

^ I am therefore to yield the castle to the Welshman, or reetore 
him his cattle V* said the impenetrable Dutchman. 

" Sooner yield thy soul to Satan !'* replied the monk. 

'^ I fear me it must be the altematiye," said the Fleming ; ^for 
the example of thy honourable lord " 

•* The example of an honourable fool" — answered the monk ; 
then presently subjoined, ^ Our Lady be with her servant ! — 
This Belgic-braiued boor makes me forget what I would say." 

" Nay, but the holy text which your reverence cited to me even 
now," continued the Fleming. 

*< Go to," said the monk ; *' what hast thou to do to presume to 
think of texts ! — knowest thou not that the letter of the Scrip* 
ture slayeth, and that it is the exposition which roaketh to live t 
— Art thou not like one who, coming to a physician, conceals 
from him half the symptoms of tlie disease ) — I tell thee, thou 
foolish Fleming, the text speaketh but of promises made unto 
Christians, and there is in the Rubric a special exception of such 
as are made to Welslmien." At this commentary the Fleming 
grinned so broadly as to shew his whole case of broad strong white 
teeth. Father Aldrovand himself grinned in sympathy, and then 
proceeded to say, — ''Come, come, I see how it is. Thou hast 
studied some small revenge on me for doubting of thy truth ; aiid^ 
in verity, T think thou hast taken it wittily enough. But where* 
fore didst thou not let me into the secret from the beginning ! I 
promise thee I had foul suspicions of thee." 

*« What !" said the Fleming, <'is it possible I eould ever think 
of involving your reverence in a little matter of deceit I Surely 
Heaven hath sent me more grace and manners. — Hark, I hear 
Jorworth's horn at the gate." 

'^ He blows like a town swineherd," said Aldrovand, in disdain. 

'' It is not your reverence's pleasure that I should restore the 
cattle unto him, then V said Flammock. 

"Yes, tiius far. Prithee deHver him straightway over tiie 
walls such a tub of boiling water as shall scald the hair from his 
goatskin cloak. And, h^k thee, do thou in the first place, try 
the temperature of the kettle with thy forefinger, and that shall 
be thy penance for the trick thou hast played me." 

The Fleming answered this with another broad grin of intel- 
ligence, and they proceeded to the outer gate, to which Jatviorth 
had come alone. Placing himself at the wicket, which, however, 
he kept carefully barred, and speaking through a small opening, 
contrived for such purpose, Wilkin Flammock demanded of Um 
Welshman his busmess. 

^ To receive rendition of the castle, agreeable to promise," said 
Jorworth. 

^ Ay ! and art thou oome on such errand alone 1" said Wilkin. 



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TAIifl I. THE BETROTHED. 71 

* VOf troly," answered Jorworth ; " 1 have some two score of 
men concealed among yonder bushes." 

''Then thou hadst best lead them away quickly," answered 
Wnidn, ^ before our archers let fly a sheaf of arrows among 
them." ^ 

** How, villain ! Dost thou not mean to keep thy promise !" 
fi^d the Welshman. 

. « I gave thee none," said the Fleming ; ** I promised but to 
tiunk on what thou didst say. I have done so, and have com- 
municated with my ghostly father, who will in no respect hear of 
my listening to thy proposal." 

''And wilt thou," said Jorworth, ''keep the cattle, whicli I 
simply sent into the castle on the faith of our agreement 1" 

" I will excommunicate and deliver him over to Satan," said 
the monk, unable to wait the phlegmatic and lingering answer of 
the Fleming, " if he give horn, hoof, or hair of them, to such an 
Queircumcised Philistine as thou or thy master." 

" It is well, shorn priest," answered Jorworth, in great anger. 
" But mark me — reckon not on your frock for ransom. When 
Gwenwyn hath taken this castle, as it shall not longer shelter 
Mich a pair of faithless traitors, I will have you sewed up each 
into the carcase of one of these kine, for which your penitent has 
forsworn himself, and lay you where wolf and eagle shall be your 
only companions." 

" Thou wilt work thy will when it is matched with thy power," 
said the sedate Netherlander, 

" False Welshman, we defy thee to thy teeth !" answered, in 
tiie same breatli, the more irascible monk. " T trust to see the 
hounds gnaw thy joints ere that day come that ye talk of so 
proudly." 

By way of answer to both, Jorworth drew back his arm with 
his levelled javelin, and shaking the shaft till it acquired a vibra- 
tory motion, he hurled it with equal strength and dexterity right 
against the aperture in the wicket. It whizzed through the 
opening at which it was aimed, and flew (harmlessly, however) 
between the heads of the monk and the Fleming ; the former of 
whom started back, while the latter only said, as he looked at the 
javelin, which stood quivering in the door of the guard-room, 
" That was well aimed, and happily baulked." 

Jorworth, the instant he had flung his dart, hastened to the 
ambush which he had prepared, and gave them at once the 
signal and the example of a rapid retreat down the hill. Father 
Aldrovand would >villingly have followed them with a volley of 
aiTows, but the Fleming observed that ammunition was too pre- 
cioiis with them to be wasted on a few runaways. Perliaps the 
honest roan remembered that they had come within the danger of 
n^ a sahitation, in some measure, on his own assurance. 

yfhea the noise of the hasty retreat of Jorworth and his fol- 
hmam had died away, there enaued a dead silence^ well correni- 



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rt TALES OP THE CRUSADEBSr. 

pdnding with the coolness and calmness of that early honr In th« 
morning. 

" This will not last l^^ng," said Wilkin to the monk, in a tone 
of foreboding seriousness, which found an echo in the good father's 
bosom. 

** It will not, and it cannot," answered AldrovanH ; '^and we 
must expect a shrewd attack, which I should mind little, but that 
their numbers are great, ours few ; the extent of the walls con« 
eiderable, and the obstinacy of these Welsh fiends almost equal 
to their fiiry. But we will do the best. I will to the Lady Eveline 
— She must shew herself upon the battlements — She is fairer in 
feature than becometh a man of my order to speak of; and she 
has withal a breathing of her father's lofty spirit. The look and 
the word of such a lady will give a man double strength in the 
hour of need." 

" It may be," said the Fleming ; ** and I will go see that the good 
breakfast which I have appointed be presently served forth ; it 
will give my Flemings more strength than the sight of the ten 
thousand virgins — may their help be with us ! — were they ail 
arranged on a fair field." 



CHAPTER VIII. 

*Twas when ye raised, *mid sap and dege. 
The banner of your rightful liege 

At your she captain's call. 
Who, miracle of womankind, 
Lent mettle to the meanest hind 

That mann'd her castle wall. 

WiixiAM Stewart Rosb. 

The morning light was scarce fully spread abroad, when 
Eveline Berenger, in compliance with her confessor's advice, 
commenced her progress around the walls and battlements of the 
beleaguered castle, to confirm, by her personal entreaties, the 
minds of the valiant, and to rouse the more timid to hope and to 
exertion. She wore a rich collar and bracelets, as ornaments 
which indicated her rank and high descent ; and her under tunic, 
in the manner of the times, was gathered around her slender 
waist by a girdle, embroidered with precious stones, and secured 
by a large buckle of gold. From one side of the girdle was sus- 
pended a pouch or purse, splendidly adorned with needle-work, 
and on the left side it sustained a small dagger of exquisite work- 
manship. A dark-coloured mantle, chosen as emblematic of her 
clouded fortunes, was flung loosely around her ; and its hood was 
brought forward, so as to shadow, but not hide, her beautiful 
countenance. Her looks had lost the high and ecstatic expres- 
sion which had been inspired by supposed revelation, but thev 
rotained a sorrowftil and mild, yet determined character — and. 



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t. 



TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 78 

in addressing the soldiers, she used a mixture of entreaty and 
command — now throwing herself upon their protection — now 
demanding in her aid the just tribute of their allegiance. 

The garrison was divided, as military skill dictat^, in gTt)np8, on 
the points most liable to attack, or from which an assailing enemy 
might be best annoyed ; and it was this unavoidable separation of 
their force into small detachments, which shewed to disadvantage 
the extent of walls, compared with the number of tiie defenders ; 
and though Wilkin Flammock had contrived several means of 
concealing this deficiency of force from the enemy, he could not 
^sguise it from the defenders of the castle, who cast mournful 
[knees on the length of battlements which were unoccupied saVe 
>y sentinels, and then looked out to the fatal field of battle, 
loaded with the bodies of those who ought to have been their 
comrades in this hour of peril. 

The presence of Eveline did much to rouse the garrison from 
this state of discouragement. She glided from post to post, from 
tower to tower of the old gray fortress, as a gleam of light passes 
over a clouded landscape, and touching its various points in suc- 
cession, calls them out to beauty and effect. Sorrow and fear 
sometimes make sufferers eloquent. She addressed the various 
nations who composed her little garrison, each in appropriate 
language. To the English, she spoke as children of the soil — 
to uie Flemings, as men who had become denizens by the right 
of hospitality — to the Normans, as descendants of that victorious 
race, whose sword had made them the nobles and sovereigns of 
every land where its edge had been tried. To them she used 
the language of chivalry, by whose rules the meanest of that 
nation regulated, or affected to regulate, his actions. The Eng- 
lish she reminded of their good faith and honesty of heart ; and 
to the Flemings she spoke of the destruction of their property, 
the fruits of their honest industry. To all she proposed ven- 
geance for "flie death of their leader and his followers — to all she 
recommended confidence in God and Our Lady of the Garde 
Doloureuse ; and she ventured to assure all, of the strong and 
victorious bands that were already in march to their relief. 

" Will the gallant champions of the Cross," she said, ** think 
of leaving their native land, while the wail of women and of 
orphans is in their ears ? — it were to convert their pious purpose 
into mortal sin, and to derogate from the high fame they have so 
well won. Yes — fight but valiantly, and perhaps, before th^ 
very sun that is now slowly rising shall sink in the sea, you will 
see it shining on the ranks of Shrewsbury and Chester. Whpn 
did the Welshmen wait to hear the clangour of their trumpets, 
or the rustling of their silken banners I Fight bravely — fight 
fireely but a while I — our castle is strong — our munition ample 
— your hearts are good — your arms are powerful — God is nigh 
to us, and our friends are not far distant. Fight, then, in the 
name of all tliat is good and holy — fight for yourselves, for your 



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74 TALB8 OF THE CRUSADERS. 

wiyes, for your children, and for your property — and oh ! fight 
for an orphan maiden, who hath no other defenders but what a 
sense of her sorrows, and the remembrance of her father^ may 
raise up among you !*' 

Such speeches as these made a powerful impression on the 
men to whom they were addressed, already hardened, by habits 
and sentiments, against a sense of danger. The chivalrous Nor- 
mans swore, on the cross of their swords, they would die to a 
man ere they would surrender their posts — the blunter Anglo- 
Saxons cried, << Shame on him who would render up such a 
lamb as Eveline to a Welsh wolf, while he could make her a 
bulwark with his body!" — Even the cold Flemings caught a 
spark of the enthusiasm with which the others were animated, 
and muttered to each other praises of the young lady's beauty, 
and short but honest resolves to do the best they might in her 
defence. 

Rose Flammock, who accompanied her lady with one or two 
attendants upon her circuit around the castle, seemed to have 
relapsed into her natural character of a shy and timid girl, out 
of Uie excited state into which she had been brought by the 
suspicions which in the evening before had attached to her 
father's character. She tripped closely but respectfully after 
Evehne, and listened to what she said from time to time, with 
the awe and admiration of a child listening to its tutor, while 
only her moistened eye expressed how far she felt or compre- 
hended the extent of the danger, or the force of the exhortations. 
There was, however, a moment when the youthful maiden's eye 
became more bright her step more confident, her looks more 
elevated. This was when they approached the spot where her 
father, having discharged the duties of commander of the garri- 
son, was now exercising those of engineer, and displaying great 
skill, as well as wonderful persomu strength, in directing and 
assisting the establishment of a large mangonel, (a mihtary 
engine used for casting stones,) upon a station commanding an 
exposed postern gate, which led from the western side of the 
castle down to the plain ; and where a severe assault was natu- 
rally to be expected. The greater part of his armour lay beside 
him, but covered with his cassock to screen it from morning 
dew ; while in his leathern doublet, with arms bare to the shoul- 
der, and a huge sledge-hammer in his hand, he set an example 
to tile mechanics who worked under his direction. 

In slow and solid natures there is usually a touch of shame- 
facedness, and a sensitiveness to the breach of petty observances. 
Wilkin Flammock had been unmoved even to insensibility at the 
imputation of treason so lately cast upon him ; but he coloured 
high, and was confused, while, hastily throwing on his cassock, he 
endeavoured to conceal the dishabille in which he had been sur- 
prised by the Lady Eveline. Not so his daughter. Proud of her 
other's zeal, her eye gleamed from him to her mistress with a look 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 75 

of triumph, which seemed to say, ^ And this fiuthfol follower is 
be who was sii^>ected of treachery I" 

Eyeline's own bosom made her the same reproach ; and 
anxiops to atone for her momentary doubt of his fidelity, she 
offered for his acceptance a ring of/ value, ^ in small amendi^'* she 
said, ** of a momentary misconstruction." 

*^ It needs not, lady/' said Flammock, with his usual bhmtness, 
** unless I hare the freedom to bestow the gaud on Rose ; for I 
think she was grieved enough at that which moved me little, — 
as why should it V* 

** Dispose of it as thou wilt," said Eveline ; " the stone it bean 
is as true as thine own faith." 

Here Eveline paused, and looking on the broad expanded pUun 
which extended between the site of the castle and the river, 
observed how silent and still the morning was rising over what 
had so lately been a scene of such extensive slaughter. 

'* It will not be so long," answered Flammock ; " we shall have 
noise enough, and that nearer to our ears than yesterday." 

** Which way lie the enemy V* said Eveline ; ^ methinks I can 
spy neither tents nor pavilions." 

** They use none, lady," answered Wilkin Flanunock. 
" Heaven has denied them ihe grace and knowledge to weave 
linen enough for such a purpose — Yonder they lie on both sides 
of the river, covered with nought but their white mantles. 
Would one thmk that a host of thieves and cut-throats could look 
so like the finest object in nature — a well-spread bleaching-field ! 
— Hark ! — hark — the wasps are beginning to buzz ; t^y will 
soon be plying their stings." 

In £act, there was heard among the Welsh army a low and 
indistinct murmur, like that of 

** Bees a]ann*d, and arming in their hiyes.** 

Terrified at the hollow menacing sound, which grew louder every 
moment, Rose, who had all the irritability of a sensitive tempera- 
ment, clung to her father's arm, saying, in a terrified whisper, 
*< It is like the sound of the sea ^e night before the great inun- 
dation." 

'^ And it betokens too rough weather for women to be abroad 
in," said Flammock. << Go to your chamber. Lady Eveline, if it 
be your will — and go you too, Roschen — God bless you both — 
ye do but keep us idle here." 

And, indeed, conscious that she had done all that was incum- 
bent upon her, and fearful lest the chill which she felt creeping 
over her own heart should infect others, Evehne took her 
vassal's advice, and withdrew slowly to her own apartment, often 
casting back her eye to the place where the Welsh, now drawn out 
and tmder arms, were advancing their ridgy battaUons, like the 
waves of an approaching tide. 

The Prince of Powys had, with considerable military skill. 



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7tf Tktm Ot* TBB CRUSADERd. 

adopted a plan of attack suitable to the fiery genioB of his 
followers, and calculated to alarm on every point the feeUe gar* 
rison. 

The thr^ sides of the castle which were defended by the river. 
Were watched each by a numerous body of the British, with 
instructions to confine themselves to the discharge of arrows, 
unless Ihey should observe that some favourable opportunity of 
close attack should octeur. But lar the greater part of Gwenwyn's 
forties; consisting of three columns of great sts^ngth, advanced 
along the plain on the western side of the castle, and menaced, 
with a desperate assault), tiie walls, which, in that direction, were 
deprived of the defence of the river. The first of these formidable 
bbdies consisted entirely of archers, who dispersed themselves in 
fipont of the beleagured place, and took advantage of every bush 
and rising ground which could afford them shelter ; and then 
began to bend their bows and shower their arrows on ttie battle- 
meots and loopholes, suffering, however, a great deal more 
damage than they were able to inflict, «s the garrison returned 
their shot in comparative safety, and with more secure ax»l deli- 
berate aim.* Under cover, however, of their discharge of 
arrows, two very strong bodies of Welsh attempted to carry the 
outer defences of the castle by stiorm. They had axes to destroy 
the palisades, then called barriers; fi)ggot» to fill up the external 
ditches ; torches to set fire to aught combustibte which iikey 
might find ; and, above all, ladders to scale the walld. 

These detachments rushed with incredible fury towards the 
point of attack, ^spite a most obstmate defence, and the great 
foes which they sustained by missiles of every kind, and con- 
tinued the assault for nearly im hour, supplied by reinforoe- 
ments which more than recruited their diminished numbers. 
When they were at last compelled ta retreat, they seemed to 
adopt a new and yet more harassing species of attack. A large 
body assaulted one exposed point of the fortress with such hety 
as to draw thither as many of the besieged as could possibly be' 
spared from other defended posts, and when there appeared a 
point less strongly manned than was adequate to defence, that, 
in its turn, was furiously assailed by a separate body of the 
^emy. 

(f hus the defenders of the Garde Ddloureuse resembled the 
embarrassed traveller, engaged in repelling a swarm of hometS) 
which, while he brushes them from one part, fix in swarms upon 
another, and drive him to despair by their numbers, and the , 
boldness and multiplicity of their attacks. The postern being of 
course a principal point of attack. Father Aldrovand, whose- 
anxiety would not permit him to be absent from the walls, and 
who, indeed, where decency would permit, took an occasional 
share in the active defence of the place, hasted thither, aid the 
point chiefly in danger. 

♦ tjee Note C Jrchers qf Wales. 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. TJ 

Here be'fbund the i^leming, like a second Ajax, grim ivitb dvet 
and blood, working with his own hands the great engine which 
he had k^tely helped to, erect, and at the same time giving heedfiil 
eye to all the exigencies around. 

'^ How thinkest thou of this day's work \** said the monk m a 
whisper. 

<< What skills it talking of it, father!" replied Flaounoek; 
* thou art no soldier, and I have no time for words." 

^ Nay, take thy breath," said the monk, tucking up the sleeves 
ot his frock ; *'l will try to help thee the whilst' — although. Our 
Lady pity me, I know nothing of these strange devices, — not 
even the names. But our rule commands us to labour ; thcare 
can be no harm, therefore, in turning this winch — or in placing 
this eteel-headed piece of wood opposite to the cord, (suiting his 
actions to his words,) nor see I aught uncanonical in adjusting 
the lever thus, or in touching the spring." 

The large bolt whizzed through the air as he spoke, and was 
so soeoessfuUy aimed, that it struck down a Welsh chief of 
eminence, to whom Gwenwyn himself was in the act of giving 
some important charge. 

^Well driven, trebuehet — well flown, qua/trdP* cried the 
monk, unable to contain his delight, and giving, in his ^umph, 
the true teohnical names to the engine, and the javelin which it 
discharged. 

^ And well lumed^ monk," added Wilkin Flammock ; '' I think 
thou knowest more than is in thy breviary." 

'< Care not thou for that," said the &thw ; ^' and now that thou 
fleest 1 can work an engine, and that the Welsh knaves seem 
something low in stomach, what think'st thou of our estate !" 

** Well enough — for a bad one — if we may hope for speedy 
succour ; but men's bodies are of flesh, not of iron, and we may 
'beat last wearied out by numbers. Only one soldier to four 
yards of wall, is a fearful odds ; and the villains are aware of .it, 
and keep us to sharp work." 

The renewal of the assault here broke off their conversation, 
nor did the active enemy permit them to enjoy much repose 
until sunset ; for, alarming them with repeated menaces of attack 
upon different points, besides making two or three formidable 
and furious assaults, they left them scarce time to breathe, or to 
take a moment's refreshment. Yet the Welsh paid a severe 
price for their temerity ; for, whUe nothing could exceed the 
bravery with \i^ich their men repeatedly advanced to the attaick, 
those which were msiA& latest in the day had less of animated 
desperation than their first onset ; and it is probable, that the 
sense of having sustained great loss, and apprehension of its 
'^ects on the spirits of his people, made nightiUI, and the inter- 
ruption of the contest, as acceptable to Gwenwyn as to the ex- 
hausted garrison of the Garde Doloureuse. 

But in the camp or leaguer of the Welsh there was glee and 



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78 TALES OP THE CRUSADEB8. 

triumph, for the loss of the past day was forgotten in recollection 
of the signal rictory which had preceded this siege ; and the 
dispirited garrison could hear from their walls the laugh and the 
song, the sound of Inirping and gaiety, which triumph^ by anti- 
cipation over their surrender. 

The sun was for some time sunk, the twilight deepened, and 
night dosed with a blue and cloudless sky, in which the thousand 
spangles that deck the firmament received double brilliancy from 
some slight touch of frost, although the paler planet, their mis- 
tress, was but in her first quarter. The necessities of the garrison 
were considerably aggravated by that of keeping a very strong 
and watchful guard, ill according with the weakness of their 
numbers, at a time which appeared favourable to any sudden 
nocturnal alarm ; and, so urgent was this duty, that those who 
had been more slightly wounded on the preceding day, were 
obliged to take their share in it, notwithstanding their hurts. 
The monk and Fleming, who now perfectly understood each 
other, went in company around the walls at midnight, exhorting 
the warders to be watcliful, and examining with tilieir own eyes 
the state of the fortress. It was in the course of these rounds, 
and as they were ascending an elevated platform by a range of 
narrow and uneven steps, something galling to the moAk*8 tread, 
that they perceived on the summit to which they were ascending, 
instead of the black corslet of the Flemish sentinel who had been 
placed there, two white forms, the appearance of which struck 
Wilkin Flammock with more dismay than he had shewn during 
any of the doubtful events of the prece(}ing day's fight. 

** Father," he said, " betake yourself to your tools — e$ tpuckt 
^ there are hobgoblins here." 

The good father had not learned as a priest to defy the spiritual 
host, whom, as a soldier, he had dreaded more than any mortal 
enemy ; but he began to recite with chattering teeth, tiie exor- 
cism of the church, '< Conjuro tos omne$, spirittu mcUignif nutgnif 
atque parctf** — when he was interrupted by the voice of Eveune, 
who c»tUed out, •* Is it you. Father Aldrovand V* 

Much lightened at heart by finding they had no ghost to deal 
with, Wilkin Flammock and the priest advanced hastily to the 
platform, where they found tlie lady with her faithful Rose, the 
former with a lialf*pike in her hand, like a sentinel on duty. 

•* How is this, daughter I" said the monk ; " how came yon 
here, and thus armed? and where is the sentinel, — the lazy 
Flemish hound, that should have kept the post I" 

** May he not be a lazy hound, yet not a Flemish one, father f* 
said Rose, who was ever awakened by any thing which seemed 
a reflection upon her country ; ** methmks I have heard of such 
curs of English breed." 

" €ro to, Kofie, you are too malapert for a young maiden," said 
her father. ^ Once more, where is Peterkin Yorst, who should 
have kept this post !" 



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TAtE I, THE BETROTHED, 79 

** Let hhn not be blamed for my fEuilt," said Eveline, painting 
to a place wheie tiie Flemish sentinel lay in the shade of the 
battlement &st asleep — << He was overcome with toil — had 
fought hard through the day, and when I saW him asleep as I 
came hither, like a wandering spirit that cannot take slumber or 
repose, I would not disturb the rest which I envied. As he bad 
fooght for me, I might, I thought, watch an hour for him ; so I 
took his weapon with the purpose of remaining here till some 
one should come to relieve him.** 

** T will relieve the schelm, with a vengeance !'* said Wilkin 
Flammock, and saluted the slumbering and prostrate warder 
with two kicks, which made his corslet clatter. The man started 
to his feet in no small alarm, which he would have conmiunicated 
to the next sentinels and to the whole garrison, by crying out 
that the Welsh were upon the walls, had not the monk covered 
his broad mouth with his hand just as the roar was issuing forth. 
— ** Peace, and get thee down to the under bayley,** said he ;— 
** thou deservest death, by all Ihe policies of war — but, look* ye, 
varlet, and see who has saved your worthless neck, by watching 
while you were dreaming of swine*s flesh and beer-pots.** 

The Fleming, although as yet but half awake, was sufficiently 
conscious of his situation, to sneak off without reply, after two 
or three awkward congees, as well to Eveline as to those by whom 
his repose had been so unceremoniously interrupted. 

^ He deserves to be tied neck and heel, the houndsfoot," said 
Wilkin. '^ But what would you have, lady I My countrymen 
cannot live without rest or sleep.** So saying, he gave a yawn 
80 wide, as if he had proposed to swallow one of the turrets at an 
, angle of the platform on which he stood, as if it had only garnished 
a Qiristmas pasty. 

"True, good Wilkin," said Eveline; "and do you therefore 
take some rest, and trust to my watchfulness, at least till the 
gnards are relieved. I cannot sleep if I would, and I would not 
if I could.'* 

" Thanks, lady," said Flammock ; " and in truth, as this is a 
centrical place, and the rounds must pass in an hour at farthest, 
I win e'en close my eyes for such a space, for the lids feel as 
heavy as flood-gates." 

" Oh, father, father !" exclaimed Rose, alive to her sire's un- 
eer^nonious neglect of decorum — " think where yon are, and in 
whose presence !** 

** Ay, ay, good Flammock," said the monk, ** remember the 
presence of a noble Norman maiden is no place for folding of 
ek)aks and donning of night-caps.** 

** Let him alone, father,'* said Eveline, who in another moment 
might have smiled at the readiness with which Wilkin Flammock 
folded himself in his huge cloak, extended his substantial form 
on the stone bench, and gave the most decided tokens of pn>- 
foand repose, long ere the monk had done speaking. — " Forma 



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80 TALES OF THE CRUSADBRfl* 

and fashions of respect," she continued, <^are for times of ease 
and nicety; — when in danger, the soldier's bedchamber is 
wherever he can find leisure for an hour's sleep — his eating- 
hall, wherever he can obtain food. Sit thou down by Rose and 
me, good father, and tell us of some holy lesson whi<^ may pass 
away these hours of weariness and calamity." 

The father obeyed ; but however willing to afford consolation^ 
his ingenuity and theological skill suggested nothing better than 
a recitation of the penitentiary psalms, in which task he continued 
until fatigue became too powerful for him also, when he com- 
mitted the same breach of decorum for which he had upbraided 
Wilkin Flammock. and fell fast asleep in the midst of hia 
devotions. 



CHAPTER TX. 

** Oh, night of wo.'* ahe nid and w^it, 

** Oh, night foreboding sorrow ! 
Oh, night 01 wo,'* she said and wept, 

** But more I dread the morrow!** 

Sir Oilekrt Elliot. 

The fatigue which had exhausted FUimmock and tiie monk, 
was unfelt by the two anxious, maidens, who remained with their 
eyes bent, now upon .the dim landscape, now on the stars by 
which it was lighted, as if they could have read there the 
events which the morrow was to bring forth. It was a placid 
and melancholy scene. Tree and field, and hill and plain, hiy 
before them in doubtCul, Hght, while at greater distance, their eye^ 
could with difficulty trace one or two places where the river,* 
hidden in, general by banks and trees, spread its more expanded 
bosom to the stars, and the pale crescent. All was still, excepting 
jthe solemn rush of the waters, and nowapd jbhen the duill tinkle 
of a harp, which, heard from more than a mile's distance tbroigh 
the midnight silence, annoi^nced that some of the Welshmen still 
protracted their most beloved amusement The wild notes, 
partially heard, seemed UJie the voice of some passing spirit; 
ahd, connected as they were with ideas of fierce and unrelenting 
4)ostility, thrilled on Ev^ne's ear, as if prophetic of war and 
wo, captivity and death. The only other 9ounds which disturbed 
the extreme stillness of the night, were the occasional step of 41 
sentinel upon his post, or the hooting of the owls, which seemed 
to wail the approaching downfall of the moonlight turrets, in 
which they had established their ancient habitations. 

The. calmness of all around seemed to press Uke a weight ou 
the bosom of tlie unhappy Eveline, and brought to her mind a 
deeper sense of present gi'ief, and keener apprehension of future 
horrors, than had reigned there during the bustle, blood, and 
confusion of the preceding day. She rose up — ahe sat down — 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 81 

she mored to and fro on the platform — she remained fixed like 
a statue to a single spot, as if she were trying by variety of 
posture to divert her internal sense of fear and sorrow. 

At length, looking at the monk and the Fleming as they slept 
soundly under the shade of the battlement, she could no longer 
forbear breaking silence. " Men are happy," she said, " my 
beloved Rose; their anxious thoughts are either diverted by 
toilsome exertion, or drowned in the insensibility which follows 
it They may encounter wounds and death, but it is we who 
feel in the spirit a more keen anguish than the body knows, and 
in the gnawing sense of present ill and fear of future misery, 
suffer a living death, more cruel than that which ends our woes 
at once." 

** Do not be thus downcast, my noble lady," said Rose ; " be 
rather what you were yesterday, caring for the wounded, for the 
aged, for every one but yourself — exposing even your dear life 
among the showei*s of the Welsh arrows, when doing so could 
give courage to others ; while I — shame on me-— could but 
tremble, sob, and weep, and needed all the little wit I have to 
prevent my shouting with the wild cries of the Welsh, or scream- 
ing and groaning with those of our friends who fell around me." 

" Alas ! Rose," answered her mistress, ** you may at pleasure 
indulge your fears to the verge of distraction itself — you have a 
father to fight and watch for you. Mine — my kind, noble, and 
honoured parent, hes dead on yonder field, and all which remains 
for me is to act as may best become his memory. But this 
moment is at least mine, to think upon and to mourn for him." 

So saying, and overpowered by the long-repressed burst of filiid 
sorrow, she sunk down on the banquette which ran along the 
inside of the embattled parapet of the platform, and murmuring 
to herself, " He is gone for ever !" abandoned herself to the ex- 
tremity of grief. One hand grasped unconsciously the weapon 
which she held, and served, at the same time, to prop her forehead, 
while the tears, by which she was now for the first time relieved, 
flowed in torrents from her eyes, and her sobs seemed so convul- 
sive, that Rose almost feared her heart was bursting. Her 
affection and sympathy dictated at once tiie kindest course which 
Eveline's condition permitted. Without attempting to control the 
torrent of grief in its full current, she gentiy sat her down beside 
the mourner, and possessing herself of the hand which had sunk 
motionless by her side, she alternately pressed it to her lips, her 
bosom, and her brow — now covered it with kisses, now bedewed 
It with tears, and amid these tokens of the most devoted and 
humble sympathy, waited a more composed moment to offer her 
little stock of consolation in sudi deep silence and stillness, that, 
as Die pale light fell upon the ttvo beautiful young women, it 
seemed rather to shew a group of statuary, the work of some 
eminent sculptor, than beings whose eyes still wept, and whose 
betrts still throbbed. At a little distance, the gleaming corslet ol 

roL. xrx. V 



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82 tALES OP THE CRUSAOEllS. 

the Fleming, and the dark garments of Father AldroVAnd, a6 tlie^ 
lay prostrate on the stone steps, might represent the bodies of 
those for whom the principal figures were mourning. 

After a deep agony of many minutes, it seemed that the sorrows 
of Eveline were assuming a more composed character ; her con- - 
Tulsive sobs were changed for long, low, profound sighs, and the 
course of her tears, though they still flowed, wa& milde^ and les^ 
violent. Her kind attendant, availing herself of these gentler 
symptoms, tried softly to win the spear firom her lady*s grasp. 
** Let me be sentinel for a while," she said, ** my sweet lady — I will 
at least scream louder than you, if any danger should approach." 
She ventured to kiss her cheek, tod throw het krms around Eve- 
line's neck while she spoke ; but a mute caress, which expressed 
her sense of the faithful girl's kind intentions to minister if pos 
sible to her repose, was the only answer returned. They remainecl 
for many minutes silent in the same posture, — Eveline, like ail 
upright and tendier poplar, — Rose, who iencircled her lady in he* 
arms, like the Woodbine which twines aground it. 

At liength Rose suddenly felt her young mistress shiver in het 
embrace, and then Eveline's hand grasped her arm rigidly as she 
whispered, " Do you hear nothing V* 

^* No — nothing but the hooting of the owl," answered Rose, 
tamorously. 

^ I heard a distant sound," saitt Eveline, — " I thought 1 heard 
it — hark, it comes again ! — Look from the battlements. Rose, 
while I awaken the priest and thy father.'* 

<< Dearest lady," said Rose, ^ I dare not — what can this sound 
be that is heard by one only ! — You are deceived by the rush of 
the river." 

'< I would not alarm the dastle unne<ie8sarily," said Eveline, 
passing, *' or even break your father's needful slumbers, by a 
fancy of mine — But hark — hark ! — I hear it again — distinct 
amidst the intermitting sounds of the rushing water — a low 
tremulous sound, mingled with a tinkling like smiths or armourers 
at work upon their anvils." 

Rose had by this time sprung up on the banquette, and flinging 
back her rich tresses of fair hair, had applied her hand behind 
her ear to collect the distant sound. ,*' I hear it," she cried, '' and 
it increases — Awake them, for Heaven's sake, and without a 
moment's delay !" 

Eveline accordingly stirred ihe sleepers with the reversed end 
of the lance, and as they started to tlieir feet in haste, she whis- 
pered in a hasty but cautious voice, '< To arms — the Welsh are 
upon us !" 

*' What— where !" said Wilkin Flammock,— ** where be they t* 

** Listen, and you will hear them arming," she replied. 

** The noiso is but in thine own fancy, lady," said the Flemings 
whose organs were of the same heavy character with his form 
and his disposition^ << I would I had not gone to sleep at all, 
ainoe I was to be awakened so soon." 



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TALB I. THB BETROTHED. S3 

^ Nay, bat fisten, good Flanmioek—the aonnd of flrmotir comes 
from the iKoth-east^ 

<< The Welsh lie not in that quarter, hdy/' flaid Wilkin, << and 
besides, thej wear no armour." 

^Ihear it— I hear it!" said Father AldroTand, who had 
been listening for some time^ *< All praise to St Benedict ! — 
Oar Lady of the Garde Dokmrense has been gracious to her 
aeiTanti as ever ! — It is the trarap of horse — it is the clash of 
armomr — the chivahy of the Mardies are coming to our rdief — 
Kyrie Eleisoa !" 

''I hear something too," said Flammock, — ^ something like 
the hoUow sound of ^e great sea, when it burst into my neigh- 
bour Klinkerman's warehouse, and rolled his pots and pans 
against each other. But it were an evil mistake, father, to take 
loes for friends — we were best rouse the people." 

« Tush !" said the priest, << talk to me of pots and ketttes ! — 
Was I squire of the body to Count StefiieQ Aiauleverer for 
twenty years^ and do I not know the tramp of a war-horse, or 
the clash of a mail-eoat ! — But call the men to the walls at any 
rate, and have me the best drawn 19 at the base-court — ^we may 
help them by a sally." 

" That will not be rashly undertak^i with my consent," mur- 
mured the Fleming ; ^ bat to the wall if you will, and in good 
tine. But keep your Normans and English silent, Sir Pnest, 
else their unruly and noisy joy wiU awaken the Welsh camp, and 
prepare them for their unwelcome visiters." 

The monk bud his finger on iiis Up in sign of intelligence, and 
they parted in opposite directions, each to rouse the defenders of 
the castle, who were soon heard drawing from all quarters to 
their poets upon the walls, with hearts in a y«:y different mood 
from that in which they had descended from them. The utmost 
caution bei^ used to prevent noise, the manning of the walls was 
accomplished in silence, and the garrison awaited in breathless 
expectation the success of the forces who were rapidly advancing 
to their relief. 

The chaimcter of the sonnds which now loudly awakened the 
Mlenoe of this eventful night, ^oould no longer be mistaken. They 
were distinguishable from the rushing of a mighty river, or from 
the mutterag somid of distaoit thunder, by the sharp and angry 
notes which the <9la8hing of the rider's arms mingled with the 
deep baas of the horses' rapid tread. From the long coutinuauoe 
of the so«ids, their loudness, and the extent of horizon from 
which they seemed to come, aJl in the castle were satisfied that 
the appreaofatng relief consisted of several very strong bodies of 
hone** At once this mighty sound oeased, as if the earth on 

* Even the sharp and imtcry clang made l>y th« iron soabbftrds of modem 
cavalry ringing agHinst the i<teel-tipp*d saddles and stirrup, betrays tlieir approach 
Iran a distance. Tlie clash of the armour of knights, armed cap-a-pie, must 
h«Yt be^ laoch more easily discernible. 



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84 TALES OF THE CRUSADERg. 

which they trod had either devoured the armed squadrons or had 
become incapable of resounding to their tramp. The defenders 
of the Grarde Doloureuse concluded that their friends had made 
a sudden halt, to give their horses breath, examine the leaguer of 
the enemy, and settle the order of the attack upon them. Tha 
pause, however was but momentary. 

The British, so alert at surprising their enemies, were them* 
selves, on many occasions, liable to surprise. Their men were 
undisciplined, and sometimes negligent of the patient duties of 
the sentinel ; and, besides, their foragers and flying parties, who 
scoured the country during the preceding day, had brought back 
tidings which had lulled Siem into fatal security. Their camp 
had been therefore carelessly guarded, and confident in the small- 
ness of the garrison, they had altogether neglected the important 
military duty of establishing patrols and outposts at a proper 
distance from their main body. Thus the cavalry of the Lords 
Marchers, notwithstanding the noise which accompanied their 
advance, had approached very near the British camp without 
exciting the least alarm. But while they were arranging their 
forces into separate columns, in order to commence the a^anlt, a 
loud and increasing clamour among the Welsh announced that 
they were at length aware of their danger. The shrill and dis- 
cordant cries by which they endeavoured to assemble their men^ 
each under the banner of his chief, resounded from their leaguer. 
But these rallying shouts were soon converted into screams, and 
clamours of horror and dismay, when the thundering charge of 
the barbed horses and heavily armed cavalry of the Anglo-Nor- 
mans surprised their undefended camp. 

Yet not even under circumstances so adverse did the descen- 
dants of the ancient Britons renounce their defence, or forfeit 
their old hereditary privilege, to be called the bravest of mankind. 
Their cries of defiance and resistance were heard resounding 
above the groans of the wounded, the shouts of the triumphant 
assailants, and the universal tumult of the night-battle. It was 
not until the morning light began to peep forth, that the slaughter 
or dispersion of Gwenwyn's forces was complete, and that the 
''earthquake voice of victory" arose in uncontrolled and un- 
mingled energy of exultation. 

Then the bev«ged, if they could be still so termed, looking 
from their towers over the expanded country beneath, witnessed 
nothing but one wide-spread scene of desultory flight and unre- 
laxed pursuit. That the Welsh had been permitted to encamp in 
fimcied security upon the hither side of the river, now rendered 
their discomfiture more dreadfully fatal. The single pass by which 
they could cross to the other side was soon completely choked 
by fugitives, on whose rear raged the swords of the victorious 
Normans. Many tlirew themselves into the river, upon the pre- 
carious chance of gaining the farther side, and, except a few, who 
were unoommonly strong, skilful, and active, perished among the 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 85 

rocks and in the currentB ; others, more fortnnate, escaped by 
fords, with which they had accidentally been made acquiunted ; 
many dispersed, or, in small bands, fled in reckless despair to- 
wards the castle, as if the fortress, which had beat them off when 
▼ictorious, could be a place of refuge to them in their present 
foriom condition ; while others roamed wildly over the plain, 
seeking only escape from immediate and instant danger, inithoat 
knowing whither they ran. 

The Normans, meanwhile, divided into small parties, followed 
and slaughtered them at pleasure ; while, as a rallying point for 
the victors, the banner of Hugo de Lacy streamed from a small 
moont, on which Gwenwyn had lately pitched his own, and sur- 
rounded by a competent force, both of infantry and horsemen, 
which the experienced Baron permitted on no account to wander 
&r&om it. 

The rest, as we have already said, followed the chase with shouts 
of exultation and of vengeance, ringing around the battlements, 
which resounded with the cries, '* Ha, Saint Edward ! — Ha, 
Saint Dennis ! — Strike — slay — no quarter to the Welsh wolves 
— think on Kaymond Berenger I" 

The soldiers on the walls joined in tiiese vengeful and victori- 
ous clamours, and discharged several sheaves of arrows upon such 
fugitives, as, in their extremity, approached too near the castle. 
They would fain have sallied to give more active assistance in the 
work of destruction ; but the commuuication being now open 
with the Constable of Chester's forces, Wilkin Flammock con- 
sidered himself and tlie garrison to be under the orders of that 
renowned chief, and refused to listen to the eager admonitions of 
Father Aldrovand, who would, notwithstanding his sacerdotal 
character, have willingly himself taken charge of the sally which 
he proposed. 

At length, the scene of slaughter seemed at an end. The re- 
treat was blown on many a bugle, and knights halted on the plain 
to collect their personal followers, muster &em under their proper 
pennon, and then march them slowly back to the great standard 
of their leader, around which the main body were again to be 
assembled, like the clouds which gather around the evening sun — 
a &nciful nmile, which might yet be drawn farther, in respect of the 
level rays of strong lurid light which shot from those dark battalions, 
as the beams were flung back from their polished armour. 

The plain was in this manner soon cleared of the horsemen, 
and remained occupied only by the dead bodies of the slaughtered 
Welshmen. The bands who had followed the pursuit to a greater 
distance were also now seen returning, driving before them, of 
dragging after them, dejected and unhappy captives, to whom they 
had given quarter when their thirst of blood was satiated. 

It was then that, desirous to attract the attention of his libera- 
tors, Wilkin Flammock commanded all the banners of the castle 
to be displayed, under a general shout of acclamation from those 



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88 TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 

who bad fought under them. It was answered by a unirersal <cry 
of joy from De Lacy*8 army, which rung so wide, as might even 
yet have startled such of the Welsh fugitives, as, fer distant from 
this disastrous field of flight, might luive ventured to halt for a 
moment's repose. 

Presently after this greeting had been exdianged, a single rider 
advanced from the Constable's army towards the castle, shewing, 
even at a distance, an unusual dexterity of horsemanship and 
grace of deportment He arrived at the drawbridge, which was 
instantly lowered to receive him, whilst Flammook and the monk 
^for the lattel:, aa far as he could, associated himself with the 
former in all acts of authority) hastened to receive the envogr of 
their liberator. They found him just alighted from the raven* 
coloured horse, which was slightly flecked with blood as well as 
foam, and still panted with the exertions of the evening ; though, 
answering to the caressing hand of his youthful rider, he arched 
his neck, shook his steel caparison, 'and snorted to announce his 
unabated mettle and unwearied love of combat. The young man's 
eagle look bore the same token of unabated vigour, mingled with 
the signs of recent exertion. His helmet hanging at his saddle- 
bow, shewed a gallant countenance, coloured highly, but not in- 
flamed, which looked out from a rich profusion of short chestnut 
curls ; and although his armour was of a massive and simple 
form, he moved under it with such elasticity and ease, that it 
seemed a graceful attire, not a burden or encumbrance. A furred 
mantle had not sat on him with more easy grace than the heavy 
hauberk, which complied with every gesture of his noble form. 
Yet his countenance was so juvenile, that only the down on the 
upper lip announced decisively the approach to manhood. The 
females, who thronged into the court to see the first envoy ot their 
deliverers, could not forbear mixing praises of his beauty with 
blessings on his valour ; and one comely middle-aged dame, in 
particidar, distinguished by the tightness with which her scarlet 
hose sat on a well-shaped leg and ankle, and by the cleanness o^ 
her coif, pressed close up to the young squire, and, more forward 
than the rest, doubled the crimson hue of his cheek, by erying 
aloud, that Our Lady of the Giarde Doloureuse had sent them 
news of their redemption by an angel from the sanctuary ; — a 
speech which, although Father Al£ovand shook his head, was 
received by her companions with such general acclamation, as 
greatly embarrassed the young man's modesty. 

" Peaee, all of ye I" said Wilkin Flamraock — " Know you no 
respects, you women, or have you never seen a young gentleman 
before, that you hang on him like flies on a honey-comb ! Stand 
back, I say, and let us hear in peace what are the commands of 
the noble Lord of Lacy." 

** These," said the young man, " I can only deliver in the pre- 
sence of the right noble demoiselle, Eveline Berenger, if I migr 
l»e thought woHhy of such honour." 



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TAJ,E I.. THE BPTI^PTHEPy 87 

^ That thou art, noble sir/' said the same forward dame, who 
had before expressed her admiration so energetically ; '< I will 
uphold thee worthy of her presence, and whatever other grace a 
lady can do thee." 

** Now, hold thy tongue, with a wanion !" said the monk ; 
while in the same breath tjie fleming exclaiiped, " Beware the 
cucking-stool. Dame Scant-o'-Grace ! while he conducted the 
noble youth across the court. 

^ Let my gpod horse be cared for," said the cavalier, as he put 
the bridle into the hand of a menial ; and in doing so got rid of 
Rome part of his fpmale retinue, who began to pat and praise the 
steed AS much as they had done the rider ; and some, in the en- 
tfausiasm of ^eir joy, hardly abstained from kissing the stirrups 
and horse furniture. 

But Dame Qillian was not so easily diverted from her own 
point as were some of her companions. She continued to repeat 
the word cricking-gtool, till the Fleming was out of hearing, and 
then became more specific in her objurgation. — "And why 
cucking-stool, I pray. Sir Wilkin Butterfirkin ? You are the man 
would stop an English mouth with a Flemish damask napkin, 
I trow ! Marrj- quep, my cousin the weaver ! And why the 
cueking-stool, I pray t — because my young lady is comely, and 
the young squire is a man of mettle, reverence to his beard that 
is to come yet ! Have we not eyes to see, and have we not a 
mouth and a tongue !" 

** In troth. Dame Gillian, they do you wrong who doubt it," 
said Eveline's nurse, who stood by ; << but I prithee, keep it shut 
now, were it b»t for womanhood." 

" How now, mannerly Mrs Margery V* replied the incorrigible 
Gillian ; " is your heart so high, because you dandled our young 
lady on your knee fifteen years since ? — Let me tell you, the cat 
will fii^d its wa^ to the cream, though it was brought up on an 
abbess's lap." 

" Home, hpusewife — home !" exclaimed her husband, the old 
huntsman, who was weary of this public exhibition of his domestic 
termagant — " home, or I will give you a taste of my dog-leash — 
Here are both the confessor, and Wilkin Flammock wondering at 
your impudence." 

" Xnd'^cl !" replied Gillian ; ** and are not two fools enough for 
wonderment, that you must come with your grave pate to make 
up the number three 1" 

There was a general laugh at the huntsman's expense, under 
coyer of which he prudently withdrew his spouse, without at- 
temptidg to continue the war of tongues, in which she had shewn 
such a decided superiority. 

This controversy, so light is the change in human spirits, espe- 
cially among the lower class, awakened bursts of idle mirth among 
beings, who had so lately been in the jaws of danger, if not of 
absolute despair. 



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88 TALES OF THE CRU8ADSB8. 



CHAPTER X. 



They bore him barefoced on his bi6r» 

Six proper youths and tall. 
And many a tear bedew'd his gmve 

Within yon IdrlLyard wall. 

The Friar qfOrdert Grep. 

While these matters took place in the castle-yard, the yonng 
squire, Damian Lacy obtained the audience which he had re* 
quested of Eveline Berenger, who received him in the ^reat hall 
of the castle, seated beneath the dais, or canopy, and waited upon 
by Rose, and other female attendants ; of whom the first alone 
was permitted to use a tabouret or small stool, in her presence, so 
strict were the Norman maidens of quality in maintaining their 
claims to high rank and observance. 

The youth was introduced by tlie confessor and Flammock, as 
the spiritual character of the one, and the trust reposed by her 
late father in the other, authorized them to be present upon the 
occasion. Eveline naturally blushed, as she advanced two steps 
to receive the handsome youthful envoy ; and her bashfulness 
seemed infectious, for it was with some confusion that Damian 
weut through the ceremony of saluting the hand which she ex- 
tended towards him in token of welcome. Eveline was under the 
necessity of speaking first. 

** We advance as far as our limits will permit us," she said, " to 
greet with our thanks the messenger who brings us tiditigs of 
safety. We speak — unless we err — to the noble Damian of 
Lacy ?" 

" To the humblest of your servants," answered Damian, falling 
with some difficulty into the tone of courtesy which his errand 
and character required, ** who approaches you on behalf of his 
noble uncle, Hugo de Lacy, Constable of Chester." 

*• Will not our noble deliverer in person honour with his pre- 
sence the poor dwelling which he has saved ?" 

" My noble kinsman," answered Damian, ** is now God's 
soldier, and bound by a vow not to come beneath a roof until he 
embark for the Holy Land. But by my voice he congratulates 
you on the defeat of your savage enemies, and sends you these 
tokens that the comrade and friend of your noble father hath not 
left his lamentable death many hours unavenged." So saying, he 
drew forth and laid before Eveline the gold bracelets, the coronet, 
and the eudorchawg, or chain of linked gold, which had distin- 
guished the rank of the Welsh Prince.* 

** Gwenwyn hath then fallen 1" said Eveline, a natural shadd^ 

« See Note D. Eudorchawg, or Gold ChaifU qfthe TTelsft. 

Digitized by LjOOQIC 



TALE I. THE BETROTHED* 89 

eomhatmg with the feelings of gratified vengeance, as she be- 
held that the trophies were speckled with blood, — ^ The slayer of 
my father is no more !" 

" My kinsman's lanoe transfixed the Briton as he endeavonred 
to rally his flying people — he died grimly on the weapon which 
had passed more than a fathom through his body, and exerted 
his last strength in a furious bat ineffectual blow with his 
mace." 

** Heaven is just," said Eveline ; " may his sins be forgiven to 
the man of blood, since he hath fallen by a death so bloody ! 
— One question I would ask you, noble sir. My father's re- 
mains—" She paused, unable to proceed. 

** An hour will place ^em at your disposal, most honoured 
lady," replied the squire, in the tone of sympathy which the 
sorrows of so young and so fair an orphan called irresistibly forth. 
** Such preparations as time admitted were making even when I 
left the host, to transport what was mortal of the noble Berenger 
from the field on which we found him, amid a monument of slain 
which his own sword had raised. My kinsman's vow will not 
allow hini to pass your portcullis ; but, with your permission, I 
will represent him, if such be your pleasure, at these honoured 
obsequies, having charge to that effect." 

^ My brave and noble father," said Eveline, making an effort 
to restnun her tears, ** will be best mourned by the noble and the 
brave." She would have continued, but her voice failed her, and 
she was obliged to withdraw abruptly, in order to give vent to her 
sorrow, and prepare for the funeral rites with such ceremony 
as circumstances should permit. Damian bowed to the depart- 
ing mourner as reverently as he would have done to a divinity, 
and taking his horse, returned to his imcle's host, which had en- 
camped hastily on the recent field of battle. 

The sun was now high, and the whole plain presented the 
appearance of a bustle, equally different from the solitude of the 
early morning, and from the roar and fury of the subsequent 
engagement. The news of Hugo de Lacy's victory every where 
spread abroad with all the alacrity of triumph, and had induced 
many of the inhabitants of the country, who had fled before the 
fury of the Wolf of Plinlinmion, to return to their desolate habi- 
tations. Numbers also of the loose and profligate characters 
which abound in a country subject to the frequent changes of 
war, had flocked thither in quest of 6poil> or to gratify a spirit of 
restless curiosity. The Jew and the Lombard, despising danger 
where there was a chance of gain, might be already seen barter- 
ing liquors and wares with the victorious men-at-arms, for the 
blood-stained ornaments of gold lately worn by the defeated 
British. Others acted as brokers betwixt the Welsh captives 
and their captors ; and where they could trust the mean^^i and 
good faith of the former, sometimes became bound for, or even 
advanced in ready money, the sums necessary for their ransom i 



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90 TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 

whilst a more numerous class became themselves the porchasen 
of those prisoners who had uo immediate means of settling with 
their conquerors. 

That the spoil thus acquired might not long encumber the 
soldier, or bluqt his ardour tor farther enterprise, the usual means 
of dissipating miHtary spoils were already at hand. Courtezans, 
mimes, jug^ers^ minstrels, and tale-tellers of every description, 
had accompanied the night-march ; and, secure in the military 
reputation of the celebrated De hs^y, had rested fearlessly at 
some Uttl^ (distance uiftil the battle was fought an4 won. These 
now approached, in n^any a joyous group, to congratulate the 
victors. Close to the parties which they formed for the dance, 
the song, or the $ale, upon the yet bloody field, the countrymen, 
summoned in for the purpose, 'were opening large trenches for 
depositing the dead — leecnep were seen tending the wounded — 
priests and monks confessing those in extremity — soldiers tran- 
sportinff from the field the bodies of the more honoured among 
the slam — peasants mourning over their ti*ampled crops and 
plundered habitations — and widows and orphans searchmg for 
ihe bodies of husbands and parents, amid the promiscuous car- 
nage of two combats. Thus wo mingled her wildest notes with 
those of jubilee and bacchanal triumph, and the plain of t)ie 
Oarde Poloureqse formed a singular parallel to the varied maze 
x>f human life, where jov and grief are so strangely mixed, and 
where the confines of mirth and pleasure often border on those of 
Borrow and of deatli. 

About noon these various noises were at once silenced, and the - 
attention alike of those who rejoiced or grieved was arrested by 
the loud and mournful sound of six trumpets, which, uplifting and 
uniting their thrilling tones in a wild and melancholy death-note, 
apprised all, that the obsequies of the valiant Raymond Berenger 
were about to commence. From a tent, which had been hastily 
pitched for the immediate reception of the body, twelve black 
monks, the inhabitants of a neighbouring convent, began to file 
out in pairs, headed by their abbot, who bore a large cross, and 
thundered forth the sublinie notes of the Catholic Miserere me^ 
Domine, Then came a chosen body of men-at-arms, trailing their 
lances, with their points reversed and pointed to the earth ; and 
after them the body of the valiant Berenger, wrapped in his own 
knightly banner, which, regained from the hands of the Welsh, 
now served its noble owner instead of a funeral pall. The most 
gallant knights of the Constable's household (for, like other great 
nobles of that period, he had formed it upon a scale which ap- 
proached to that of royalty) walked as mourners and supporters 
of the corpse, which was borne upon lances ; and the Constable 
of Chester himself, alone and fully armed, excepting the head, 
followed as chief mourner. A chosen body of squires, men-at- 
arms, and pases of noble descent, brought up the rear of the 
procession ; wnile their nakers and trumpets echoed back* from 



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TALK I, THB BET«QTQ£I>. 91 

time to time, the melancholy song of the monkSy hy replying in % 
note as lugubrious as their own. 

The course of pleasure was arrested, and eren that of sorrow 
was for a moment turned from her own griefs, to witness the last 
honours bestowed on him, who had been in life the father and 
guardian of his people. 

The mournful procession tray^raed slowly the plain which had 
been within a few hours the scene of such varied events ; and, 
pausing before the outer gate of the barricades of the casUe, in- 
vited, by a prolonged and solemn flourish, the fortress to receive 
the remains of its late gallant defender* The melancholy sum- 
mons was answered by the warder's horn — the di'awbridge swik 
— the portcullis rose — and Father Aldrovand appeared in the 
middle of the gateway, arrayed in his sacerdotal habit, whilst ^ 
httle way behind him stood the orphaned damael, in such weeds of 
mourning as time admitted, supported by her attendant Rose, and 
followed by the females of the household. 

The Constable of Chester paused upon the threshold of the 
outer gate, and, pointing to the cross signed in white cloth npon 
his left shoulder, with a lowly reverence resigned to his nephew, 
Damian, the task of attending the remains of Raymond Berenger 
to the chapel within the casUe. The soldiers of Hugo de Lac}, 
most of whom were bound by the same vow with himself, also 
baited without the castle gate, and remained under arms, while 
tiie death-peal of tlie chapel bell announced &om within the pro- 
gress of the procession. 

It winded on through those narrow entrances, which were 
skilfully contrived to interrupt the progress of an enemy, even 
should he succeed in forcing the outer gate, and arrived at length 
in the great court-yard, where most of ihe inhabitants of the 
fortress, and those who, under recent circumstances, had taken 
refuge Uiere, were drawn up, in order to look, for the last time, 
on their departed lord. Among these were mingled a few of the 
motley crowd from without, whom curiosity, or the expectation 
of a dole, had brought to the castle gate, and who, by one argu- 
ment or another, had obtained from the warders permission to 
enter the interior. 

The body was here set down before the door of the chapel, the 
ancient Gothic front of which formed one side of the court-yard, 
until certain prayers were recited by the priests, in which the 
crowd around were supposed to join with becoming reverence. 

It was during this interval, that a man, whose peaked beard, 
embroidered girdle, and high-crowned hat of gray felt, gave him 
the air of a Lombard merchant, addressed Margery, the nurse of 
Evdine, in a whispering tone, and with a foreign accent. — *^1 
am a travelling merchant, good sister, and am come hither in 
quest of gain — can you tell me whether I can have any custom 
m this castle %" 

** You are come at an evil time« Sir Stranger -> you majr 



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92 TALES OF THE CRUSADEBfl. 

yoanelf see that this is a place for mourning and not for 
merchandise." 

^Yet mourning times have their own commerce,'* said the 
stranger, approaching still closer to the side of Margery, and 
lowering his Toice to a tone yet more confidential. '^ I have sable 
scarfs of Persian silk — black bugles, in which a princess might 
mourn for a deceased monarch — Cyprus, such as the East hath 
seldom sent forth — black cloth for mourning hangings — all that 
may express sorrow and reverence in fashion and attire ; and I 
know how to be grateful to those who help me to custom. Come, 
bethink you, good dame — such things must be had — I will sell 
as good ware and as cheap as another ; and a kirtle to yourself, 
or, at your pleasure, a purse with five florins, shall be the meed 
of your kindness.'' 

" I prithee peace, friend," said Margery, ** and choose a better 
time for vaunting your wares — you neglect both place and 
season ; and if you be farther importunate, I must speak to those 
who will shew you the outward side of tlie castle gate. I marvel 
the warders would admit pedlars upon a day such as this — they 
would drive a gainful bargain by the bedside of their mother, 
were she dying, I trow." So saying, she turned scornfully from 
him. 

While thus angrily rejected on the one side, the merchant felt 
his cloak receive an intelligent twitch upon the other, and, looking 
round upon the signal, he saw a dame, whose black kerchief was 
affectedly disposed, so as to give an appearance of solemnity to a 
set of light laughing features, which must have been captivating 
when young, since they retained so many good points when at 
least forty years had passed over them. She wiuked to the mer- 
chant, touching at the same time her under lip with her forefinger, 
to announce the propriety of silence and secrecy ; then gli(Sng 
from the crowd, retreated to a small recess formed by a project- 
iug buttress of the chapel, as if to avoid tlie pressure likely to take 
place at the moment when the bier should be Ufted. The mer- 
chant failed not to follow her example, and was soon by her side, 
when she did not give him the trouble of opening Ins affairs, but 
commenced the conversation herself. 

" I have heard what you said to our Dame Margery — Man- 
nerly Margery, as I call her — heard as much, at least, as led me 
to guess the rest, for I have got an eye in my head, I promise 
you." 

^ A pair of them, my pretty dame, and as bright as drops of 
dew in a May morning." 

^Oh, you say so, because I have been weeping," said the 
scarlet-hosed Gillian, for it was even herself who spoke ; ^ and to 
be sure, I have good cause, for our lord was always my very good 
lord, and would sometimes chuck me under the chin, and oail me 
buxom Gillian of Croydon — not that the good gentleman was 
ever uncivil^ for he would thrust a silver twopennies into mv 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 93 

hajd at the Bame time. — Oh ! the friend that I have lost ! — And 
I hare had anger on his account too — J have seen old Raool as 
soar as vinegar, and fit for no place but the kennel for a whole 
day about it ; but, as I said to him, it was not for the like of me 
to be affronting our master, and a great baron, about a chuck 
under the chin, or a kiss, or such like." 

^ No wonder you are so sorry for so kind a master, dame/' said 
the merchant. 

" No wonder indeed,*' replied the dame, with a sigh ; " and then 
what is to becojne of us t — It is like my young mistress will go 
to her aunt — or she will marry one of these L^ys that they ti^ 
eo much of — or, at any rate, she will leave the castle ; and it's 
hke old Raoul and I will be turned to grass with the lord's old 
chargers. The Lord knows, they may as well hang him up with 
the old hounds, for he is both footless and fangl^s, and fit for 
nothing on earth that I know of." 

'^ Your young mistress is that lady in the mourning nutntle," 
said the merchant, ^ who so nearly sunk down upon the body 
just now 1" 

^ In good troth is she, sir — and much cause she has to sink 
down. I am sure she wiU be to seek for such another father." 

**I see you are a most discerning woman, gossip Gillian," 
answered the merchant ; <<and yonder youth that supported her 
is her bridegroom !" 

" Much need she has for some one to support her," said Gillian; 
** and BO have I for that matter, for what can poor old rusty 
Raoul do ?" 

** But as to your young lady's marriage !" said the merchant. 

** No one knows more, than that such a thing was in treaty 
between our late lord and the great Constable of Chester, that 
came to-day but just in time to prevent the Welsh from cutting all 
our throats, and doing the Lord knoweth what mischief beside. 
Bat there is a marriage talked of, that is certain — and most folk 
think it must be for this smooth-cheeked boy, Damian, as they 
call him ; for though the Constable has gotten a beard, which his 
ne{^ew hath not, it is something too grizzled for a bridegroom's 
chin — Besides, he goes to the Holy Wai-s — fittest place for all 
elderly warriors — I wish he would take Raoul with him. — But 
what is all this to what you were sjiying about your mourning 
wares even now 1 — It is a sad trutli, that my poor lord is gone — 
But what then t — ,Well-a-day, you know the good old saw, — 

* Cloth must we wear. 
Eat beef and drink beer, 
Though the dead go to bier.* 

And for your merchandising, I am as like to help you with my 
good woivi as Mannerly Margery, provided you bid fair for it ; 
sinee, if the lady loves me not so nmch, I can turn the steward 
voond my finger." 
''Take this in part ^f your bargain, pretty Mistress Gillian," said 



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94 tAtisa OP THB cnusABfiits; 

the merchant ; ^ and when my wains come up, I will consider yoa 
Umply, if I get good sale by your favourable report. — But how 
shall I get into the castle again ! for I would wish to consult you^ 
being a sensible woman, before I come in with my luggage." 

^ Why,** answered the complaisant dame, ^ if our English b« 
on zuard, you have only to ask for Gillian, and they will open the 
wicket to any single man at once ; for we English stick all to- 
gether, were it but to spite the Normans : — but if a N(»tnan b« 
on du^, you must ask for old Raoul, and say you come to speak 
of dogs and hawks for sale, and I warrant you come to speech of 
me that way. If the sentinel He a Fleming, you have but to say 
you are a merch&nt, and he wil. let you in for the love of trade,** 

The merchant repeated his thankful acknowledgment, glided 
ttotn her side, and mixed among the spectators, leaving her to 
congratulate herself on having gained a brace of florins by the 
indulgence of her natural talkative humour ; for which^ on otiier 
occasions, she had sometimes dearly paid. 

The ceasing of the heavy toll of the castle b^ now gave inti*- 
mation that the noble Raymond Berenger had been Md in the 
vault with his fathers. That part of the funeral attendants who 
had come from the host of De Lacy, now proceeded to the castle 
hall, where they partook, but with temperance^ of some refresh- 
ments which were offered as a death-meal ; and pres^tly after 
left the castle, headed by young Damian, in ike same slow and 
melancholy form in which they had entered. The monks re- 
mained Within the castle to sing repeated services for the soul of 
the deceased, and for those of his faithful men-at-arms who had 
fallen around him, and who had been so mueh mangled during, 
and after, the contest with the Welsh, liiat it was scarce possible 
to know one individual from another ; otherwise the body of 
Dennis Morolt would have obtained, as his fkith weU cbfierred, 
the honours of a separate funeraL* 



CHAPTER XI. 

— ^The {iinerat baked meats 
Bid coldly furnish fortli ttte marriage table. 

nanOd. 

Thb reh'gious rites which followed the funeral of Raymond 
Berenger, endured without inteiTuption for the period of six days; 
during wliich, alms were distributed to Hie poor, and relief ad- 
ministered, at the expense of the Lady Eveline, to all those who 
. had suffered by the late inroad. Death-meals, as they were 
termed, were also spread in honour of the deceased 5 but tfie lady 
herself, and most of her attendants^ observed a stem oourae ii 

• See Note E. Cruettietqfthe ^dsh. 



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tAlt I. THE BEtllOTHED. 9^ 

Ti^ disdplifie, and fksts, which appeared to the Normans a more 
decorous manner of testifying their respect for the dead, than the 
Saxon and Flemish custom of banqueting and drinking inordi- 
nately upon such occasions. 

Meanwhile^ the Constable De Lacy retained a large body of 
bis m^n encaftiped under the walls of the G^rde Doloureuse, for 
protection against some new irruption of the Welsh, while with 
the rest he took advantage of his victory, and struck terror into 
liie British by many well-conducted forays, marked with ravages 
teareely less hurtful than their own. Among the enemy, the 
evils of discord were added to those of defeat and invasion ; foi^ 
two distant relations of Gwenwyn contended for the throne hd 
had lately occupied, and on thiii, as on many otiier occasions, thd 
Britons suffered as much from internal dissention as fh)m the 
sword of the Normans. A worse politician, and a less celebrated 
soldier, than the sagacious and successful De Lacy, could not 
have failed, under such circumstances, to negotiate as he did ail 
advantageous peace, which, while it deprived Powys of a part of 
its frontier, and the command of some important passes, in which 
it was the Constable's purpose to build castles, rendered the 
Garde Doloureuse more secure than formerly, from any sudden 
attadc on the part of their fiery and restless neighbours. De 
Lacy's care also went to re-establishing those settlers who had 
fied from tiieir porsessions, and putting the whole lordship^ which 
taow descerded upon an unprotected female, into a state of defence 
fts perfect as its situation on a hostile frontier could possiblj^ 
permit. 

Whilst thus anxiously provident m the affabs of the orphan of the 
Ciarde Doloureuse, De Lacy, during tlie space we have mentioned, 
sought not to disturb her fiUal grief by any personal intercourse. 
His nephew, indeed, was despatched by times every morning to 
lay before her his undoes dewirSf in the high-flown language of 
the day, and acquaint her with the steps which he had taken in 
ber affairs. As a meed due to his relative's high services, 
Damian was always admitted to see Eveline on sudi occasions, 
and returned charged with her grateful thanks, and her implicit 
acquiescence in whatever the Constable proposed for her con- 
sideration. 

But when the days of rigid mourning were elapsed, the young 
De Lacy stated, on the part of his kinsman, that his treaty with 
tiie Webb b^ng concluded, and all things in the district arranged 
as well as circumstances would permit, the Constable of Chester 
now proposed to return into his own territCMry, in order to resume 
his instant preparations for the Holy La&d, which the duty of 
chastising her enemies had for some days interrupted. 

** And will not the noble Constable, before he departs from this 
plaee," said Eveline, with a burst of gratitude which the occasion 
w^ merited, ^ receive the personal thanks of her that was ready 
to perish, when he ao valiantiy «ame to her aid f" 



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96 TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 

" It was even on that point that I was commissioned to spealc,? 
replied Damian ; " but my noble kinsman feels diffident to pro- 
pose to you that which he most earnestly desires — the privilege 
of speaking to your own ear certain matters of high imp(»rt, and 
with which he judges it fit to intrust no third party." 

"Surely," said the maiden, blushing, "there can be nought 
beyond the bounds of maidenhood, in my seeing the noble Coii« 
stable whenever such is his pleasure." 

" But his vow," replied Damian, " binds my kinsman not to 
come beneath a roof until he sets sail for Palestine ; and in order 
to meet him, you must grace him so far as to visit his pavilion ; 
— a condjescension which, as a knight and Norman noble, he can 
scarcely ask of ailamsel of high degree." 

" And is that all ?" said Eveline, who, educated in a remote 
situation, was a stranger to some of the nice points of etiquette 
which the damsels of the time observed in keeping their state 
towards the other sex. " Shall I not," she said, " go to render 
my thanks to my deliverer, since he cannot come hither to 
receive them ! Tell the noble Hugo de Lacy, that, next to my 
gratitude to Heaven, it is due to him, and to his brave companions 
in arms. I will come to his teni; as to ^ holy shrine ; and, could 
such homage please him, I would come barefooted, were the road 
strewed with flints and with thorns." 

" My uncle wiU be equally honoured and delighted with your 
resolve," said Damian ; " but it will be his study to save you all 
unnecessary trouble, and with that view a pavilion shall be 
instantly planted before your castle gate, which, if it please you 
to grace it with your presence, may be the place for tiie desired 
ii^terview." 

Eveline readily acquiesced in what was proposed, as the expe- 
dient agreeable to the Constable, and recommended by Damian ; 
but, in the simplicity of her heart, she saw no good reason why, 
under the guardianship of the latter, she should not instantly, and 
without farther form, have traversed the little familiar plfun on 
which, when a child, she used to chase butterflies and gather 
king's-cups, and where of later years she was wont to exercise 
her palfrey on this well-known plain, being the only space, and 
that of small extent, which separated her from the camp of the » 
Constable. 

The youthful emissary, with whose presence she had now 
become familiar, retired to acquaint his kinsman and lord with 
the success of his commission ; and Eveline experienced the first 
sensation of anxiety upon her own account which had agitated her 
bosom, since the defeat and death of Gwenwyn gave her permis- 
sion to dedicate her thoughts exclusively to grief, for the loss which 
she had sustained in the person of her noble father. But now, 
when that grief, though not satiated, was blunted by solitary 
indulgence — now that she was to appear before the person ot 
whose fame she had heard so much, of whose powerful protection 



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TALB I. THE BETROTHED^ 97 

ihe had received soch recent proofe, her mind inBensibly turned 
upon the nature and consequences of that important interriew. 
She had seen Hugo de Lacy, indeed, at the great tournament at 
Chester, where his valour and skill were &e theme of every 
tongue, and she had received the homage which he rendered her 
beauty when he assigned to her the prize, with all the gay 
flutterings of youthful vanity ; but of his person and figure she 
had no distinct idea, excepting that he was a middle-sized man, 
dressed in peculiarly rich armour, and that the countenance, 
which looked out from under the shade of his raised visor, seemed 
to her juvenile estimate very nearly as old as that of her father^ 
•This person, of whom she had such slight recollection, had been 
the chosen instrument employed by her tutelar protectress in 
veeoning her from captivity, and in avenging the loss of a father, 
and she was bound by her vow to consider him as the arbiter of 
her fate, if indeed he should deem it worth his while to become 
•o. She wearied her memory with vun efforts to recollect so 
much of his features as might give her some means of guessing 
at his disposition, and her judgment toiled in conjecturing what 
line of conduct he was likely to pursue towards her. 

The great Baron himself seemed to attach to their meeting a 
degree of consequence, which was intimated b;^ the formal pre- 
parations which he made for it. Eveline had imagined that he 
might have ridden to the gate of the castle in five minutes, and 
tfaiU, if « pavition were actually necessary to die decorum of their 
mterview, a tent could have been transferred from his leaguer to 
the castle gate, and pitched there in ten minutes more. But it 
was phun that the Constable considered much more form and 
ceremony as essential to their meeting ; for in about half an hour 
after Damian de Lacy had left the castle, not fewer than twenty 
soldiers and artificers, under the jdirection of a pursuivant, whose 
tabard was decorated with the armorial bearings of the house of 
Lacy, were employed in erecting before the gate of the Grarde 
Doloureuse one of those splendid pavilions, which were employed 
■at tournaments and other occasions of public state. It was of 
purple silk, valanced with gold embroidery, having, the cords of 
the same rich materials. The door-way was formed by six lauces, 
the staves of which were plaited with silver, and the blades com- 
posed of the same precious metal. These were pitched into the 
ground by couples, and crossed at the top, so as to form a sort of 
socoession of arches, which were covered by drapery of sea-green 
lUk, forming a pleanng contrast with the purple and gold. 

The interior of the tent was declared by Dame Gillian and 
od^rsy whose curiosity- induced them to visit it, to be of a splendour 
llgKeing with the outside. There were Oriental carpets, and 
tfaiie weie tapestries of Ghent and Bruges mingled in gay prpfu- 
itaQy while the top of the pavilion, covered with sky-blue silk, was 
aMiyed 80 as to resemble the firmament, and richly studded with 
ft «u% aumn, and stars^ composed of solid silver. This gorgeoiia 



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98 TALES OF THE OIUSADEI^. 

pavifion had been made for the use of the edebrated Williani of 
Ypres, who acmured sach great wealth as general of the maroe- 
naries of King ^phen, and was by him creiiSed £ail of Albemarle; 
but the chance of war had assigiMd it to De Laej, after one of 
ihe dreadful eneagementi, so many of whidi oocoxred during the 
civil wars betwixt Stef^en and the Empr^ Maude, or Matilda. 
The Constable had never before been known to use it ; for ahlxmg^ 
wealthy and poweiful, Hugo de Lacv was, on most occasions, 
plain and unostentatious ; which, to those who knew lum, made 
his present conduct seem tiM more vamarki^leu At the hour 
of noon he arrived, nobly moonte^^ «t the gate of the eairtle, 
and drawing up a small body of servants, pages, and equerriesy 
who attended hun in the^ rioiest livraies, plaoed himsd/at ihev 
head, and directed his nephew to intimate to the Lady xd the 
Garde Dokmreuse, that the humblest of her servants awiyted the 
honour of her presence at the castie gate. 

Among the spectators who witnened his arrival, tiiere were 
many who thought tiiat some part of ibe state and splendour 
attached to his paviHon and his retinue, had been better applied 
to set forth the person of the Oonstable bimsel^ as his attire wa9 
simple even to meanness, and his person by no means of audi 
distinguished bearing as might altogether dispense with Hm 
advantages of dress and ornament. The opinion became yet 
more prevalent, when he deeoended from horseback, until wSnek 
time Ins masterly management of the noble animal he bestrodfl^ 
gave a digmty to his person and figure, whiofa he lost upon dia- 
mounting from fna steel saddle. In height, the celebrated 
Constable scarce attained the iniddlle aiae, and his Jimhs, thon^ 
strongly built and w^ knit, were deficient in pnee and ease of 
movement His legs were ddghtly curved outward^ which gave 
him advantage as a horseman, but shewed unlEkvamsably when he 
was upon foot. He halted, though inery slightly, in eonsequenee 
of one of hislegshavin^beenbr&enbydiefiUlof achargex^and 
inartificially set by an mexperienoed surgeon. This, ab^ was a 
blemish in his deportment ; and though his broad shoulder^ 
sinewy arms, and expanded chest, betokened the strength whidi 
he often displayed, it was strength of a dumsy and ungraoefol 
cliaracter. His language and gestures were those of one addom 
used to converse with equals, more seidom still with superiors ; 
short, abrupt, and decisive, almost to tiM vei^ of sternness. In 
the jutoient of those v«^o were habitually acquainted with the 
Constame, there was both dignity and kindness in his keen eye 
and expanded brow ; but such as saw hnn fiir tlie first time 
judged less favofurably, and pretended to dboover a harsh and 
passionate expression, although they alloawed his ccnntefiance to 
have, on the -whole, a bold and martial diaracter. His age was 
in reali^ not more than five-and-forljy, but the fittigues of war 
and of climate had added in appearance ten years to that period 
•f time. By far the plainest dressed man of his train, he wove 



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TALIS I. THE BETBOTHED. 99 

tmiy a short Nomiaii mantle, over the doee drefls of shamon- 
leamer, which, ahnoet always covered bv Ins armour, was in some 
places sUghtly soUed by its pressure. A brown hat, in which he 
wore a sprig of rosemary in memory of his tow, serred to his 
head-ffear *- his good sword and dagger hung at a belt made of 
seal-skin. 

Thus aooootred, and at the head of a jittering and gilded hand 
of retsiners^ who watched his lightest finance, the Gcmstable of 
QMster awaited the arrival of the Lady Evdiiie Berenger, at the 
gate of her castle of Qarde Dolonrease. 

The trumpets from within announced her presence — the 
bridge fell, and, led by Damiaa de Lacy in Ins gayest habit, and 
followed by her train of females, and menial or vassal attendants, 
she came fooctk la her lovdiaess bam under the massive and 




■■ »1P*« UKU rWMJHIi NOV , MH-JHUIM, MMM, aUia ATTBpCV*, B D«l.^fUjJ ^iVIHil —I* 

with the rick attire ef her conductor, whose costly dress gleamed 
with jewels and embroidery, while their age and personal beauly 
made them in ertty other respect the iiur counterpart ef each 
otfier ; a drcumstance which probably save rise to the delighted 
' and buzz which passed throu^ the bystanders on their 
ice^ and which only respect for the deep mourning of 
) prevented from br^kking out into shouts m applaase. 

The instant that the feir ibot of Eveline had made a step 
heyokl the paHisades which formed the outward barrier ol the 
nsallfi, the Cbnstable de Laor stepped forward to meet her, and, 
hiiiiting his ri^ knee to the earth, craved pardon for the dit* 
courtesy whidb his vow had imposed on him, while he expressed 
his aeose of the honour with which she now meed him, as one 
to which his life, devoted to her service, would be an inadequate 
wtoofwledffment. 

The me&m and i^eech, though both in consistence with the 
TQOUBitie gallantry oif the times, embarrassed Eveline ; and the 
adier that lUa homage was so publicly rendered. She entreated 
the Gbnstable to atand up, and not to add to the confusion of one 
who naa ahraady sdSciently at a loss how to acquit herself of the 
hmfj debt of gralitnde which die owed him. The Constable 



^fy, after salutinc her hand, whidi she extended 
ia hiln, and prayed her, since die was so to condeoceoding, to 
fti%i la enter the poor hot he had prepared to her shelter, and 
to gMBt Um the honour of the andienoe he had adidted. Eve- 
Im^ without fertfaer answer than a how, yielded him her hand, 
sad, desiring the rest of her tram to remain where they were, 
* 1 the attendance of Rose Flamraock. 



^Lady," said the Constable, ^tbe matters of which I am 
•BUmsDsit thus hastily to speak, are of a nature the most 
•ia?^ 
lUs maiden,'' replied Eveline, <*is my bower-woman^ and 

Digitized by LjOOQ IC 



100 TALES OP THE CRUSADKRS. 

acquainted with my most inward thongfats; I beseech y<m to 
permit her presence at our conference." 

^It were better otherwise/' said Hugo de Lacy, with some 
embarrassment ; ^ but your pleasure shall be ol>eye^" 

He Jed the Lady Eveline, into the tent, and entreated her to 
be seated on a large pile of cushions, covered with rich Venetian 
silk. Rose phiced herself behind her mistress, half kneeling 
upon the same cushions, and watched the motions of the all- 
accomplished soldier and statesman, whom the voice of fame 
lauded so loudly ; enjoying his embarrassment as a triumph of 
her sex, and scarcely of opinion that his shamois doublet and 
square form accorded with the splendour of the scene, or tlie 
almost angelic beauty of Eveline, the oth^r actor therein. 

^ Lady,'' said the Constable, after some hesitation, ^ I would 
willingly say what it is my lot to tell you, in such terms as ladies 
love to listen to, and which surely your excellent beauty more 
especially deserves ; but I have been too long trained in campe 
and councils to express my meaning otherwise than simply and 
plainly." 

^ 1 shall the more easily understand you, my brd," said Eve- 
line, trembling, though she scarce knew why. 

*' My story, then, must be a blunt one. Something there 
passed between your honourable father and myself, touching a 
union of our houses." — He paused, as if he wished or expected 
Eveline to say something, but, as she was silent, he proceeded. 
^ I would to God, that as he was at the beginning of this treaty, 
it had pleased Heaven he should have conducted and concluded 
it with his usual wisdom ; but what remedy t — he has gone the 
path which we must all tread." 

^ Your lordship," said Eveline, '^faas nobly avenged the death 
of your noble friend." 

'' I have but done my devoir, lady, as a good knight, in defence 
of an endangered maiden — a Lord Marcher in protection of the 
frontier — and a friend in avenging his friend. But to the 
point. — Our long and noble line draws near to a close. Of my 
remote kinsman, Randal Lacy, I will not speak ; for in him I 
flee nothing that is good or hopeful, nor have we been at one for 
many y«ars. My nephew, Damian, gives hopeful promise td be 
a wortiiy branch of our ancient tree — but he is scarce twenty 
years old, and hath a long career of adventure and peril to en- 
counter, ere he can honourably propose to himself tiie duties of 
domestic privacy or matrimonial engagements. His mother also 
is English, some abatement perhaps in the escuteheon of his 
arms ; yet, had ten years more passed over him with the honours 
of chivalry, I should have proposed Damian de Lacy for the 
happiness to which I at present myself aspire." 

^ You — you, my lord ! — it is impossible !" said Eveline, en- 
deavouring at the same time to suppress all that could b^ olfenaiTS 
'IB the siiriNrise which she could not help eidiib^g. 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. lOl 

*^ I do not wonder," replied the Constable, calmly, — for the 
ioe bemg now broken, he resumed the natural steadiness of his 
manner and character, — ^that you express surprise at this 
daring proposal. 1 have not perhaps the form that pleases a 
lady's eye, and I have forgotten, — tiiat is, if I ever knew them, 
— the terms and phrases which please a lady's ear ; but, noble 
Eveline, the Lady of Hugh de Lacy will be one of the foremost 
ainong the matronage of England." 

^ It will the better become the individual to whom so high a 
dignity is offered," said Eveline, ** to consider how far she is 
ca^pable of discharging its duties." 

** Of that I fear nothing," said De Lacy. <* She who hath been 
so excellent a daughter, cannot be less estimable in every other 
relation in life." 

'^ I do not find that confidence in myself, my lord," replied the 
embarrassed jnaiden, ^ with which you are so willing to load me 
— And I — forgive me — must crave time for other mquiries, as 
well as those which respect myself." 

^ Your father, noble lady, had this union warmly at heart 
This scridly signed with his own hand, will shew it." He bent 
his knee as he gave the paper. << The wife of De Lacy will have, 
as the daughter of Raymond Berenger merits, the rank of a 
princess ; his widow, the dowery of a queen." 

** Mock' me not with your knee, my lord, while you plead to me 
the paternal commands, which, joined to other circumstances" — 
she paused, and siehed deeply — << leave me, perhaps, but little 
room for free will I" 

Imboldened by this answer, De Lacy, who had hitherto 
remained on his knee, rose gently, and assuming a seat beside 
the Lady Eveline, continued to press his suit, — not, indeed, in 
the language of passion, but of a plain-spoken man, eagerly 
urging a proposal on which his happiness depended. The vision 
of the miraculous image was, it may be supposed, uppermost in 
the mind of Eveline, who, tied down by the solemn vow she had 
made on that occasion, felt herself constrained to return evasive 
answers, where she might perhaps have given a direct negative, 
had her own wishes alone been to decide her reply. 

*^ Yon cannot," she said, ** expect from me, my lord, in this 
JOy so recent orphan state, that I should come to a speedy 
determination upon an affair of such deep importance. Give me 
leisure of your nobleness for consideration with myself — for con- 
sohation with my friends." 

** Alas ! fiiir Eveline," said the Baron, ** do not be offended at 
my urgency. I cannot long delay setting forward on a distant 
and pcnnlous expedition ; and the short time left me for soliciting 
your fiskvour, must be an apology for my importunity." 

*^ And is it in these circumstances, noble De Lacy, that you 
would encumber yourself with family ties 1" asked the maideu^ 
timidly. 



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102 TALES OP THE GRUSADBB8. 

" I am God's soldiery" said the Constable^ ^ and Ho, in whose 
cause I fight in Palestine, will defend mjr wifo in England." 

^Hear then my present answer, mj lordy" nid ETeliue 
Beren|;er, xinng from her seat. * To^noirow I proceed to the 
Benedietine nunnery at Gloucester, where resides my honored 
lather's sister, who is Abbess of tiiat rsTersnd hoose. To hu 
guidance I will commit myself in this matter." 

** A fiur and maidenly resolution," answered De Lacy, who 
seemed, on his part, rather gkid that the conftorence was abridged, 
^ and, as I trust, not altog^ier uniaYourable to the suit of your 
humUe supiiliant, since the good Lady Abbess haifa been long my 
honoured friend." He then turned to Rose, who was about to 
attend her lady:— "Pretty maiden," he said, offsring a diain 
of gold, " let mis carcanet encirde thy neck, and buy thy good - 
wilL" 

"My good wiU cannot be pnrefaased, my lord," said Rose^ 
putting Mok the gift which he proffSsred. 

« Your fiiir word, then," said the Constable^ again pressing it 
upon her. 

" Fair words are easUy bought," said Rose, still rejecting the 
chain, " but they are sdidom worth the purchase-money." 

** Do vou scorn my proflEer, damsel !" said De Lacy ; " it has 
graced the neck of a Norman count." 

"Qaye it to a Norman countess then, my lord," said the 
damsel ; " I am phdn Rose Flammock, the weaver's dau^ter. 
I keep my good word to go with my sood will, and a latten chain 
will become me as well as beaten gold." 

"Peace, Rose," said her lady; "yon are over makpert to 
talk thus to the Lord Constable. — And yon, my lord," she eon* 
tinued^ " permit me now to depart, since yon are possMsed of my 
answer to your present propKisal. I regret it mtd not been <n 
some less delicate nature, that by granting it at once, and wi&* 
out dday, I might have shewn my sense of your senrices." 

The hMly was handed forth by the Constable of Chester, with 
the same ceremony which had been observed at their entrance, 
and she returned to her own castle, sad and anxious in-mind for 
the event of this important conference. She eathcred dosely 
around her the sreat monniing veil, tiut the dteration <^ her 
countenance ni^it not be obserred; and, wi&ont pausing to 
speak even to lather Aldrovand, she instantly withdrew to the 
privacy of her own bower. 



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TALE I. tHE BETROTHED. 103 



CHAPTER Xn. 

NOW aU ya ladtet of lUr Scotlfliid, 

And ladieft of Sogbad tint hopfr WQ«U FnWf 
Many never for housetv nor mairy for land. 
Nor manor for nothing but only love. 

Fiamtlp Quarreir. 

Whbh die Ladj fivelkw had retired into her own prirate 
diamber, Rose Flammock followed her unbidden, and proffered 
ber aBBistanoe in remoying the large veil which she had worn 
while she was abroad ; but the lady refuted her pernussion, say- 
ingy ^ Ye* are forward with lervioe^ maiden, when it ia not 
reqmred of yoo." 

^ Yon axe displeased with me, lady !" said Rose* 

** Aad if I am, I hare cause," replied Eveline. ** You know 
my difficulties — you know what my duty demands ; yet, instead 
of'aidmg me to make the sacrifice, you render it more difficult" 

^ Womd I had inflnenoe to guide your path !" said Rose ; 
'yon flhoald find it a smooth one — ay^an luwest and straight 
cneytoboot'' 

'^ How mean yon, maiden f said Eveline. 

^ I would have you," answered Rose, ^ recall the encomnge- 
ment — the consent, I may almost call it, you have yielded to 
this pnmd baron. He is too great to be loved himself — too 
hang^^ to kve yon as you deserve. If you wed him, you 
wed guded misery, and, it may be, dishonour as well as dis- 



** Bem^nber, damsel," linswered Eveline Bertnger, '< bis ser- 
▼ieea towards us." 

^ ffis Morvioes f answered Rose. ** He ventured his life for us, 
i nde t d , bvi so did every soldier in his host. And am I bound to 
wed any raffling blade among them, because he fought when the 
tnm^et sound^ 1 I wonder what is the meaning of their dewir, 
as tlM^y eall it, when it shames them not to daim the highest re- 
ward weman can bestow, merely for discharging the ckity of a 
ieman, by a distressed creature. A geirtleman, said I ! — 
coarsest boor in Flanders would harSy expect thanks for 
: the duty of a man by women in such a case." 
krt my &ther^s wishes f ' said the young tody. 
^ They had reference, without doubt, to t& indination of your 
idler's daughter," answered the attendant. " I will not do my 
kls n^le lord — (may Qod assoilzie him f) — ihe injustice to 
B fp o s o he would hiave nraed aught in this matter whion squared 
BOl wHb your fi^ee choice." 
''Tken my vow — my fatal vow, as I had well-nigh called it,** 
' 1 Svefioe. ^ May Heaven forgive me my ingratitade to my 



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104 TALES OP THE CRUSADERS.' 

" Even this shakes me not," said Rose ; ** I will never believe 
our Lady of Mercy would exact such a penalty for her protec- 
tion, as to desire me to wed the man I could not love. She 
smiled, you say, upon your prayer. Gro — lay at her feet these 
difficulties which oppress you, and see if she will not smile again. 
Or seek a dispensation ^m your vow — seek it at the expense 
of the half of your estate, — seek it at the expense of your whole 
property. Gro a pilgrimage barefooted to Rome — do any thing 
but give your hand where you cannot give your heart." 

^ You speak warmly, Rose," said Eveline, still sighing as she 
spoke. 

'' Alas ! my sweet lady, I have cause. Have I not seen a 
household where love was not — where, although there was wcnrth 
and good will, and enough of the means of fife, all was imbittered 
by regrets, which were not only vain, but criminal !" 

^* Yet, methinks. Rose, a sense of what is due to ourselves and 
to others may, if listened to, guide and comfort us under such 
feetings even as thou hast described." 

*< It will save us from sin, lady, but not from sorrow," 
answered Rose ; '^ and wherefore should we, with our eyes open, 
rush into circumstances where duty must war with inclination t 
Why row against wind and tide, when you may as eaoly take 
advantage of the breeze !" 

^ Because the voyage of my life lies where winds and currents 
oppose me," answered Eveline. " It is my fate, Rose." 

*<Not unless you make it such by choice," answered Rose. 
** Oh, could you but have seen the pale cheek, sunken eye, and 
dejected beajring of my poor mother ! — I have said too much." 

" It was then your mother," said her young lady, ^ of whose- 
unhappy wedlock you have spoken V* 

^ It was — it was," said Rose, bursting into tears. ^ I have 
exposed my own shame to save you from sorrow. Unhappy she 
was, though most guiltless — so unhappy, that the breadi of the 
dike, and the inun<Ution in which she perished, were, but for my 
sake, to her welcome as night to the wearv labourer. She had a 
heart like yours, formed to love and be loved ; and it would be 
doing honour to yonder proud Baron, to say he had sudi worth 
as my father's. — Yet was she most unhappy. Oh I my sweet 
lady, be warned, and break off this ill-omened match f 

Eveline returned the pressure with which the affectionate girl,. 
as she clung to her hand, enforced her well-meant advice, and 
then muttered with a profound sigh, — ^ Rose, it is too late.'' 

^ Never — never," said Rose, looking eagerly round the room. 
^ Where are those writing materials ! — Let me bring Father 
Aldrovand, and instruct him of your pleasure — or, stay, the- 
good father hath himself an eye on the splendours of the worid . 
which he thinks he has abandoned — he will be no safe secretary. 
— I will go myself to the Lord Constable — me his rank cannot - 
dazzle, or his wealth bribe, or his power overawe. I will tell him 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED.- 166 

he doth no knightly part towards you, to press his contnet with 
your father in such an hour of helpless sorrow — no pious part, 
hi delaying the execution of his vows for the purpose of manning 
or giving in marriage — no honest part, to press himself on a 
maiden whose heart has not decided in his favour — no wise part, 
to marry one whom he must presently abandon, either to solitude, 
or to the dangers of a profligate court" 

^ You have not courage for such an embassy, Rose,"^ said her 
mistress, sadly smilmg through her tears at her youthful atten- 
dant's zeal. 

"Not courage for it I — and wherefore not? — Try me," 
answered the Flemish maiden, in return. *' 1 am neither Sara- 
cen nor Welshman — his lance and sword scare me not. I follow 
not his banner — his voice of command concerns me not I could, 
with your leave, boldly tell him he is a selfish man, vmling witli 
fiur and honourable pretexts his pursuit of objects which concern 
his own pride and gratification, and founding high claims on 
having rendered the services which common humanity demanded. 
And all for what ! — Forsooth the great De Lacy must have an 
heir to his noble house, and his fair nephew is not good enough 
to be his representative, because his mother was of Anglo-Saxon 
strain, and the real heir must be pure unmixed Norman ; and for 
this. Lady Eveline Berenger, in the first bloom of youth, must be 
wedded to a man who might be her father, and who, after leaving 
her unprotected for years, will return in such guise as might be 
seem her grandfather !" 

" Since he is thus scrupulous concerning purity of hneage,' 
said Eveline, ^ perhaps he may call to mind, what so good a herald 
as he is cannot fail to know — that I am of Saxon strain by m^ 
fitther's motiier." 

" Oh," replied Rose, ^ he will forgive that blot in the heiress of 
the Garde Doloureuse." 

** Fie, Rose," answered her mistress, ** thou dost him wrong in 
taxing him with avarice." 

** Perhaps so," answered Rose ; ** but he is undeniably ambi- 
tions ; and Avarice, I have heard, is Ambition's bastard brother, 
though Ambition be sometimes ashamed of the relationship." 

" Yon speak too boldly, damsel," said Eveline ; ** and, while I 
acknowledge your affection, it becomes me to check your mode of 
'expression." 

"Nay, take that tone, and I have done," said Rose. — "To 
' Eveline, whom I love, and who loves me, I can speak freely — 
bat to the Lady of the Garde Doloureuse, the proud Norman 
Aunsel, (which when you choose to be you can be,) I can curtsy 
as low as my station demands, and speak as .little truth as she 
cares to hear." 

" Thou art a wild but a kind girl," said Eveline ; " no one who 
did not know thee would think that soft and childish exterior 
eovered such a soul of fire. Thy mother must indeed have been 



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lOd TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 

the bidng <»f feeing and paamoa jou paint her ; for thy faHier ^- 
nay, nay, neTer arm in his defence until he be attacked — I only 
meant to say, that his solid sense and soimd judgment an his 
most distinguished qualities." 

** And I would you would avail yoonetf of tiiiei% lady," said 
Rose. 

^ In fitting things I will ; but he were rather an unmeet oooii- 
sellor m that which we now treat of," said Eveline^ 

** You mistake him," answered Rose FhuMBoek, '^and widflr« 
rate his value. Sound judgment is like to the graduated mea- 
surinff-wand, which, though usually a{>plied <mly to coarser ck>di89 
wiU give with equal trutii tiie dimeMiflns of Indian, silk^ or of 
doth of gold." 

** Well— wdl— this affair pieaees no* instantly at least," said 
the young lady. ** Leave me now. Rose, and send GlUian the 
tirewconan hither — I have directions to give about the paddng 
and removal of my wardrobe." 

** That Gillian the tirewoman hath been a mighty favourite of 
bite," said Rose ; ** time was when it was otherwise." 

<* I like her manners as litUe as thou dost," said Eveliiie ; ^bol 
she is dd Raoul's wife— she was a sort of half favourite with mj 
dear £&ther — who, like other men, was periii^ taken by thai 
very freedom whidi we think unseemly in perstms of our sex ; 
and then there is no other woman in ute Castie that hath such 
skill in empacketing clothes without the risk of their being 
injured." 

^ That but reason alone," said Rose, smiling, ^ is, T admity aa 
irresistible pretension to favour, and Dame GKllian shall pre- 
sently attend you. — But take my advice, lady — keep her to nsr 
bales and her mails, and let her not prate to you on what oaft- 
oems her not." 

So saying. Rose left the apartment, and her young lady lookad 
after her in silence — then murmured to herself — ^Roiae lovea 
me truly ; but she would willingly be more of the mistress Hhml 
Ihe nuuden ; and then she is somewhat jealous of every other 
person that approaches me. ~* It is strange, that I have not seen 
Damian de Lacy since my interview with the Constable. Be 
anticipatcB, I fluf^Mse, the chance of his finding in me a severe 
aunt !" 

But the domestics, who crowded for orders with reference to 
her removal eariy on the morrow, bcigan now to divert the car- 
rent of their lady's thoughts from the oonsideratioa of her own 
particular situation, which, as the proqwot i^esented nothinff 
pleasant, with the eUstic spirit of youth, ihe willing^ pos t pon a d 
tin fiffther leisure. 



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TALK I. THE BETBOTHED. 107 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Too nraeh reat It niikk 

TliM* 1 ere* ebeer in ohmgteff I 
We tyne bv tqo much trust. 

So we '11 oe up and Taoging. 

(MSonff. 

Eablt on tiie sabeeqneiit moniing, a gallant oompuiy, sad- 
dened indeed by the deep mourning which their principals wore, 
Idt tiie well-defended Ci^tle of the Grarde Dolourenaey which had 
been so lately the leene of such remarkable eyents. 

The son was just beginning to exhale the heai^ dews which 
Iiad fidlen during the night, and to disperse the win graymist 
which eddied around towers and battlements, when WilUn Flam- 
mook, with six erossbowmen on horseback, and as many spear- 
men on foot, sallied forth from under the Gothic gate-way, and 
crossed the sounding drawbridge. After ibis adyanoed guard, 
came four household servants well monnted, and after them, as 
many inferior female attendants, all in mourning. Then rode 
forth the young Lady Eveline herself, occupying the centre of 
the little procession, and her long black robes formed a striking 
eoQtrast to the colour of her milk-white palfrey. Beside her, on 
a Spanish Jennet, the gift of her affsctionate fSeither, — who had 
procured it at a high rate^ and who would have given half bis 
Bubatance to'sratify hia danditer, — sat the girlish form of Rose 
Flammo^ who had so mu^ of juvenile shyness in her manner, 
80 modi of feeling and of judgment in her Uioughts and actions. 
Bame Margery followed, mixMl in the party escorted by Father 
Aldrovand, whose company she chiefly frequented ; for Mar- 
gery affected a little the chiuracter of the devotee, and her influ- 
eoee in the fiunily, as having been Eveline's nurse, was so great 
aa to render her no improper companion for the chaplain, when 
her lady did not require her attendance on her own person. Then 
old 



i old Raoul the huntsman, his wife, and two or three other 
I of Raymond Berenger's household ; the steward, with his 
gcridea diain, yelvet casso<S^ and white wand, bringing up the 
fear, which was dosed by a small band of archers, and four men- 
aX-nnoL The guards, and indeed the greater part of the atten- 
diiitB, were only designed to give the necessary degree of honour 
to the yoone lady's moyements, by accompanying her a diort 
mee from the castle, where they were met by the Ck>nstable of 
Aert ar, who^ with a retinue of thirty lances, proposed himself to 
flseovt Evdine aa fer as Gloucester, the place of her destination. 
Under his protection no danger was to be ^>prehended, even if 
'ttie severe defeat so lately sustained by the Welsh had not of 
itself been likely to prevent any attempt, on the part of those 
hostile mountaineen, to disturb the suety of the marches fur 
»to< 



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108 TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 

In pursuance of this airangement, which permitted the armed 
part of Eveline's retinue to return for the protection of the castle, 
and the restoration of order in the district around, the Constable 
awaited her at the fatal bridge, at the head of the gallant band of 
selected horsemen whom he had ordered to attend upon him. The 
parties halted, as if to salute each other ; but the Constable, 
observing that Eveline drew her veil more closely around her, 
and recoUectiug the loss she had so lately sustained on that luck- 
less spot, had the judgment to confine his greeting to a mute 
reverence, so low that the lofty plume which he wore, (for he was 
now in complete armour,) mingled with the flowing mane of his 
gallant horse. Wilkin Flammock next halted, to f^ the lady if 
slie had any farther conmiands. 

" None, good Wilkin," said Eveline ; ** but to be, as ever, true 
and watchful." 

*^ The properties of a good mastiff," said Flammock. ^ Some 
rude sagacity, and a stout hand inst^d of a sharp case of teeth, 
are all that I can claim to be added to them — I will do my best. 
•^ Fare thee well, Roschen ! Thou art going among strangers — 
forget not the qualities which made thee loved at home. The 
saints bless thee — farewell !" 

The steward next approached to take his leave, but in 
doing so, had nearly met with a fatal accident It had been the 
pleasure of Raoui, who was in his own disposition cross-grained, 
and in person rheumatic, to accommodate himself with an old 
Arab horse, which had been kept for the sake of the breed, as 
lean, and almost as lame as himself, and with a temperas vicious 
as that of a fiend. Betwixt the rider and the horse was a constant 
misunderstanding, testified on Raoul's part by oaths, rough checks 
with the curb, and severe digging with the spurs, which Mahound 
(so paganishly was the horse named) answered by plunging, 
bounding, and endeavouring by all expedients to unseat his rider, 
as well as striking and lashmg out furiously at whatever else 
approached him. It was thought by many of the household, that 
Raoul preferred this vicious cross-tempered animal upon all occa- 
sions when he travelled in company with his wife, in order to take 
advantage by the chance, that amongst the various kicks, plunges, 
sambades, lashings out, and other eccentricities of Mahound, his 
heels might come in contact with Dame Gillian's ribs. And nowj 
when as the important steward spurred up his palfrey to kiss his 
young lady's hand, and to take his leave, it seemed to the by- 
standers as if Raoul so managed his bridle and spur, that Mahound 
jerked out his hoofs at the same moment, one of which coming 
m contact with the steward's thigh, would have splintered it like 
a rotten reed, had the parties b^n a couple of inches nearer to 
each other. As it was, the steward sustained considerable dam- 
age ; and tliey that observed the grin upon Raoul's vinegar 
countenance entertained little doubt, that Mahound's heels then 
and there avenged oertam nods, and winks, and wreathed smiles^ 



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TALE I. THK BETROTHED. 109 

whiiAi had paased betwixt the gold-chained funciiooary and the 
coquettish turewoman, since the party left the castle. 

This incident abridged the painful solemnity of parting betwixt 
the Lady Eri^line and her dependents, and lessened at the same 
•time the formality of her meeting with the Constable, and, as it 
were, resigning herself to his protection. 

Hugo & LMsy) having commanded six of his men-at-arms to 
proceed as an advanced-guar^ remained himself to see the steward 
properly deposited on a litt^, and then, with the rest of his 
-followers, marched in military fiishion about one hundred yards 
in the rear of Lady Eveline and her retinue, judiciously forbear- 
ing to present himself to her society while she was engaged in the 
orisons which the place where they met naturally suggested, and 
waiting patiently until the elasticity of youthful temper should 
require some diversion of the gloomy thoughts which the scene 



Suided by this policy, the Constable did not approach the ladies 
until the advance of the morning rendered it politeness to remind 
tfaean, tiiiat a pleasant spot for breaking their &st occurred in the 
neighbourhood, where he had ventur^ to make some prepara- 
tions for rest and refreshment Immediately after the Lady 
Eveline had intimated her acceptance of this courtesy, they came 
in sight of the spot he alluded to, marked by an ancient oak, 
whieh, spreading its broad branches far and wide, reminded the 
traveller of ^at of Mamre, under which ^lestial beings accepted 
Ae hospitality of the patriarch. Across two of these huge pro- 
jecting arms was flung a piece of rose-coloured sarsanet, as a 
eam^y to keep off the morning beams, which were already rising 
high. Cushions of silk, interchanged with others covered with 
the furs of animals of the chase, were arranged round a repast, 
wfaidi a Norman cook had done his utmost to distinguish, by the 
8ii|>erior delicacy of his art, from the gr<)8S meals of the Saxons, 
and the penurious simphcity of the Welsh tables. A fountain, 
which bubbled from under a large mossy stone at some distance, 
feireshed the air with its sound, and the taste with its liquid 
crystal ; while, at the same time, it formed a cistern for cooling 
two or three flasks of Gascon wine and hippocras, which were at 
'tittt time the necessary accompaniments of the morning meal. 

When EveUne, with Rose, the Confessor, and at some farther 
'distance her faithful nurse, was seated at this silvan banquet, the 
-leaves rustling to a gentle breeze, the water bubbling in the back- 
'groond, the birds twittering around, while the half-heard sounds 
of eonversation and laughter at a distance announced that their 
'gnard was in the vicinity, she could not avoid making the Con- 
•alaUe some natural compliment on his happy selection of a place 
•of moee. 

- **Yaa do me more than justice," replied the Baron ; " the spot 
'mafm^sded by my nephew, who hath a fimcy like a minstrel^ 
'Myadf am bat slow in imagining such devices." 



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110 TALES OP THE CRUSADIIUI. 

Rose looked full at her mistress, as if she endeavoured to look 
into her very inmost sonl ; but Eveline answered vHh the utmost 
«mplicity, — ^ And whereifore hath not the noUe Bannaa waited 
to join us at the entertainment which he hath directed 1" 

^ He prefers riding onward," said the Baron, ^ with some light- 
horsemen ; for, notwithstanding there aie now no Welsh knaves 
fltixring, yet the mardies are never free from robbeis and outlaws; 
and though there is nothing to fear for a hand like ours, yet yon 
should not be alarmed even by the approadi of danger." 

** I have indeed seen but too much of it latdy," said Eveline ; 
and relapsed into the meianeholy mood firam wldch the novelty 
of the scene had for a moment awakened her. 

Meanwhile, the Constable, removing, with liie aasSstance of his 
Bqiiire, his mailed hood and its steel cnest, as wdl as his gannttets, 
remained in his iexible coot-o^mail, oon^osod entird.y of rings 
of steel curiously interwoven, his hands bare, and his brows 
covered with a v^vet bonnet id a peculiar fiuihion, appropriated to 
the use of knights, and called a moflier^ wfaidi permitted him 
both to converse and to eat mcare easily than when he wore the 
fuU defensive armour. His discoorse was phun, sensible, and 
manly ; and, turning upon I2ie state of tiie country, and the pre- 
cauti(Mis to be observed for governing and defending so disordeiiy 
a frontier, it became gradnaUy interestmg to Eveline, ooe of whose 
warmest wishes was to be the protectress of her father's vasaak. 
De Lacy, on his part, seemed much pleased ; for, young as Eve- 
line was, her questions shewed mtelligence, and her mode of 
answering, both a}^n»henmon and docility. In short, familiarity 
was so far establidied betwixt l^m, that in the next stage of their 
journey, the Constable seemed to ^ink his appropriate place was 
at tiie Lady Eveline's bridle-rein ; and altheagh ^le certainly did 
not countenance his attendance, yet aeMier dra she seem wiUmg 
to discourage it. Himself no ardent kyver, althou^ captivated 
both with £e beauty and the amiable qnali^ of the feir orphan, 
De Lacy was satisfied with being endured as a companioB, and 
made no efforts to improve the importunity which this familiarity 
afforded him, by recurring to any of the topics of iSba preceding 
day. 

A halt was made at noon in a small village, where the suae 
purveyor had made preparations for their aecommodatioiiy and 
particularly for that of tiie Lady Eveline ; but, something to her 
surprise, he himself remained invisible. The conversatioQ of the 
Constable of Chester was, doubtless, in liia highest degree instruc- 
tive ; but at Eveline's years, a maiden might be exenasd fur 
wishing some addition to the society in the person of a yoongcr 
and less serious attendant ; and vdien she recollected the regu- 
larity with which Damian Lacy had hitherto made his reneote to 
ber, she rather wondered at his continued absence. Bat her 
reflection went no deeper than the pasang thought of one who 
was not quite 90 much delighted w^ her present company, aa 



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TALK I. THE BBTROTHEP. Ill 

not to bdieve it npftUe of as agreeable addition. She was lend- 
ing a patient ear to the aeooont which the Constable gaye her of 
tiie descent and pedigree of a gallant knight of the diatangoiihed 
&mi3y of Heiberty at whoae eastle he pn^raaed to repose during 
the night, when one of the retinne annoonced a metBenger from 
tiie Lm7 of Baldringham. 

* My bimoored iatlmr's aunt," said Eveline, arising to testify 
thi^ T9Bpeet for age and rehttionship which the manners of the 
tinne re^piked. 

« I knew not,'* said the Constable^ ^ that my gallant friend had 
BQdi a relative." 

^Sh9 was my gnuidmother's sister," answered Eveline, <<a 
noble Saxon lady ; but she disliked the match fanned with a Nor- 
man hoose, and never saw her sister after tho period of her 
■larriafle." 

She Broke off, as the messenger, who had the appearance of 
Hie steward of a poson of consequence, entered tiie pres^ice, 
and, balding his knee reverently, delivered a letter whicli, being 
ezammed by Father Aldrovand, was found to contain the following 
iBvitation, expressed, not in French^ then the general language 
of oommunication amongst the gentry, but in the old Saxoa Ian- 
gnage, modified as it now was by some intermixture of French. 

' If the giand-dangfater of Aelfreid of Baldringham hath so 
cfa of the <dd Saxon strain as to desire to see an ancient rela- 
tion, who still dwells in the house of her forefathers, and lives 
aflsr their manner, she is thus invited to repose for the night in the 
dwelHng of Ennengarde of Baldringham." 

^ Your pleasure will be^ doubtlessy to decline the present hos- 
pilalityr said the Constable De Lacy ; <<the noble Herbert 
expects ua, airil has made great preparation," 

-^ Your presence, my ku^" said Eveline, ^ will more than c<m- 
sole him for my absence. It is fitting and proper that I should 
meet my aunt's advances to reooncil£tion, since she has conde- 
seended to make them." 

De La^s brow was slightly clouded, for seldom had he met 
with aigr thing approaching to oontradiction of his pleasure. ^ I 
paj yon to reflbct, lisdv Evehne," he said, ** that your aunt's 
iionss is probably dsfenoeless, or at least very imperfectly guarded 
— Would it not be your pleasure that I should eontanue my 
4itifiil attendance!" 

** Of that, my lord, mine aunt can, in her own house, be the 
nki jn4ge ; and metiunks, as she has not deemed it necessary to 
' the honour of your lordship's company, it were unbe* 
J in me to permit you to take the trouble of attendance ; — 
J9m Inuns already had but too much on my account." 

'' Bmt for the sake of your own safety, madam," said De Lafiy» 
; to leave his charge. 



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112 tAhRB OF THB CRUETADERS. 

** My safety, my lord, canDot be endangered in the hmise of so 
near a relative ; whateyer precautions she may take on her own 
behalf, will doubtless be amply sufficient for mine.*' 

** I hone it will be found so," said De Lacy ; *< and I will at 
least add to them the security of a patrol around the eastfo 
during your abode in it." He stopped, and then proceeded wirti 
some hesitation to express his hope, that Eveline, now about to 
visit a kinswoman whose prejudices against the Norman race 
were generally known, would be on her guard against what die 
might hear upon that subject. 

Eveline answered with dignity, that tlie daughter of Raymond 
Berenger was unlikely to listen to any opinions which would 
affect the dignity of that good knight's nation and descent ; and 
with this assurance, the (>>nstabie, finding it impossible to obtain 
any which had more special reference to himself and his suit, 
was compelled to remain satisfied. He recollected also that the 
castle of Herbert was within two miles of the habitation of tlie 
Lady of Baldringham, and tiuit his separation from Eveline was 
but for one night ; yet a sense of the difference betwixt their 
years, and perlmps of his own deficiency in those lighter qualifi- 
cations by which the female heart is supposed to be most 
frequently won, rendered even this temporary absence matter of 
anxious thought and apprehension ; so that, during then: after- 
■jioon journey, he rode in silence by Eveline's side, rather medi- 
tating what might chance to-morrow, than endeavouring to avail 
himself of present opportunity. In this unsocial manner they 
travelled on until the point was reached where they were to 
separate for the evening. 

This was an elevat^ spot, from which they could see, on the 
right hand, the castle of Amelot Herbert, rising high upon an 
eminence, with all its Grothic pinnacles and turrets ; and on ihe 
left, low-embowered amongst oaken woods, the rude and lonely 
dwelling in which the Lady of Baldringham still maintained the 
customs of the Anglo-Saxons, and looked with contempt and 
hatred on all innovations that had been introduced since the 
battle of Hastings. 

Here the Constable De Lacy, having chai^zed a part of his 
men to attend the Lady Eveline to the house of her relation, and 
to keep watch around it with the utmost vigilance, but at such 
a distance as might not give offence or inconvenience to ihe 
fiimily, kissed her hand, and took a reluctant leave. Eveline 
proceeded onwards by a path so little trodden, as to shew the 
solitary condition of the mansion to which it led. Large kine, of 
an unconunon and valuable breed, were feeding in the rich 
pastures around ; and now and then fkllow deer, which appeared 
to have lost the shyness of their nature, tripped across the glades 
of the woodland, or stood and lay in small groups under sonM 
great oak. The transient pleasure which such a scene of rural 
quiet was calculated to afford^ changed to more serious feelings^ 



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TALK I. THE BETEOTHVD. US 

wImb a flnddaa ton brougfat her at eaoe im firtnt of the maiiBion- 
booM^ o£ which she had leen nothing since ahe first heheld it 
firam the point where ahe parted with the Constable, and whieh 
die liad BMre than one rtason for regarding with tome ap|»e- 

Tba boon^ for it oonld not be termed a cestle, was only two 
■toriea hmliy knr and massively baiH, with doors and windows 
forming the heafy round arch which is nsnaUy called Saxon ;-~ 
the watts were mantled with Tarioos creeping plants, which had 
crept along them undisturbed — grass grew up to the very 
thredioUy at which hnog a bnffido's horn, suspended by a brass 
flhaiD. A massire door of bbek oak dosed a gate^ whtoh much 
w ia wmhtod the ancient entrance of a ruined sepulcbre, and not a 
aool appeared to acknowledge or greet their arriTal. 

*< Were I you, my Lady Eveline," said tlie officious dame 
GUlian, " I would turn bridle yet ; for tins old dungeon seems 
Ktde likely to afford food or shelter to Christian folk.'^ 

Eveline imposed silence on her indiscreet attendant, though 
heraeif exchanging a look with Rose which confessed something 
like timidity, aa ahe commanded Raoul to blow the horn at 
tiie gate. ^ I have heard," she said, '' that roy aunt loves the 
— ''Bt eastoms so well, that she is loath to admit into her halls 



any thing ^rounger than the time of Edward the Confossor/ 

Uaool, m the meantime, cursing the rude instrument which 
baffled bis skill in sounding a regular call, and gave voice only 
to a tremendous and diseonilant roar, which seemed to shake the 
old wallsy thick aa they were, repeated his summons three times 
beiBve they obtained admittance. On the third soundkig, the 
gala opened, and a numerous retinue of servants of both sexes 
appeared in the dark and narrow hall, at the upper end of which 
Afieat fire of wood was sanding its fumaoe^ilast up an antique 
cfamneyy whose fronts aa extensive as that of a modem kitchen, 
waa cari^ over with ornaments of massive stone, and garnished 
an the tof^ with a kmg range of nichee, from each of which 
frowned the image of acHne Saxon Saint, whose barbarous name 
was acaree to be fonnd in the Romiah cafondar. 

The same officer who had brougfat the invitation from his lady 
ta KveliM^ new atepped forward, as she sapposed, to assist her 
frsBk her palfrey ; but it was in reality to lead it by the luMle- 
nm into the paved hall itseU; and up to a raised pUtfbrm, or 
daii^at the «pper end of wkdch she was at length permitted to 
disBiauiit. Two matrons of advanced years, and four young 
wmofuik ef gentle bhrth, educated by the bounty of Ennmigarde, 
atteoded witii reverence the arrival of her kiaswomaa. Eveline 
wnmld have inquired of them for her grand-aunt, but the matrons 
with meh raapect hid their finders on their mouths, as if to 
mjiin hat silence ; a geature which, united to the singularity of 
h^ reeeption in other re^Mcta, still fiuther exdted her curiosity 
10 aae bar venerable relative. 

VOL. XIX. V 



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114 TALES OF THE GRUSADERfl; 

It was soon gratified ; for, through a i>air of folding doorsy 
which opened not far from the platform on which she stood, site 
was ushered into a large low apartment hung with arras ; at the 
apper end of which, under a species of canopy, was seated the 
ancient Lady of Baldringham. Fourscore years had not quenched 
the brightness of her eyes, or bent an inch of her stately height ; 
her gray hair was still so profuse as to form a tier, combined as 
it was with a chaplet of ivy leaves ; her long dark-ooloured gown 
fell in ample folds, and the broidered girdle, which gathered it 
around her, was fastened by a buckle of gold, studd^ with pre* 
cious stones, which were worth an.Eaii's ransom ; her featmresi, 
which had once been beautiful, or rather majestic, bore stilly 
though faded and wrinkled, an air of melancholy and stem gran- 
deur, that assorted well witii her garb and deportment. She had 
a staff of ebony in her hand ; at her feet rested a large aged 
wolf-dog, who pricked his ears and bristied up his neck, as Uie 
step of a stranger, a sound so seldom heard in those halls, ap* 
preached the chair in which his aged mistress sat motionless. 

'^ Peace, Thryme," said the venerable dame ; '^ and thou, 
daughter of the house of Baldringham, approach, and fear nol 
their ancient servant" 

The hound sunk down to his couchant posture when she spoke-, 
and, excepting the red glare of his eyes, might have seemed a 
hieroglyphical emblem, lying at the feet of some ancient priestess 
of Woden or Freya ; so strongly did the appearance of Ermen- 
garde, with her rod and her chaplet, correspond with the ideas of 
the days of Paganism. Yet he who had thus deemed of her would 
have done therein much injustice to a venerable Christian matron, 
who had given many a hide of land to holy church, in honour of 
God and Saint Dunstan. 

Ermengarde*s reception of Eveline was of the same antiquated 
and. formal east with her mansion and her exterior. She did not 
at first arise from her seat when the noble maiden approached 
her, nor did she even admit her to the salute whidi she advanced 
to offer ; but, laying her hand on Eveline's arm, stopped her as 
she advanced, and perused her countenance with an earnest and 
unsparing eye of minute observation. 

" Berwine," she said to the most favoured of the two atten- 
dants, ''our niece hath the skin and eyes of the Saxon hue ; but 
the hue of her eye-brows and hair is from the foreigner and 
alien. — Thou art, nevertheless, welcome to my house, maiden," 
she added, addressing Eveline, '' especially if thou canst bear to 
hear that thou art not absolutely a perfect creature, as doubtless 
these flatterers around thee have taught thee to belkve." 

So saying, she at length arose, and saluted her niece with a 
kiss on the forehead. She released her not, however, from her 
grasp, but proceeded to give the attention to her garments which 
die had hitiierto bestowed upon her features. 

^ Saint DuDstan keep us from vanity !" she said ; ^ and so thia 



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TALE I. THE BBTBOTHED,^ 115^ 

h ^ new goise — and modest maidens wear sncb tunics as these, 
shewing the diape of their persons as pkun as if (Saint Mary 
defend us H they were altogether without garments ! And see, 
Berwine, these gands on the neck, and that neck itself uncovered 
as low. as the shoulder — these be the ffuises which strangers have 
brought into merry England I and mis pouch, like a pUyer's 
piadtet, hath but lit^ to do widi housewifery, I wot ; and that 
dagger, too, like a glee-man's wife, that rides a mumming in mas- 
culine appar^ — dost thou ever go to the wars^ maiden, that thou 
wearest steel at thy girdle V 

ETcline, equally surprised and disobliged by the depreciating 
catalogue of her apparel, replied to the last question with some 
spirit, — << The mode may have altered, madam ; but I only wear 
such garments as are now worn by those of my age and condi- 
tion. For the poniard, may it please you, it is not many days 
since I regarded it as the last resource betwixt me and diis- 
honour.** 

" The maiden speaks well and boldly, Berwine," said Dame 
Ermengarde ; *< and, in truth, pass we but over some of these vain 
fripperies, is attired in a comely fashion. Thy father, I hear, fell 
kmght-like in the field of battle." 

* He did so," answered Eveline, her eyes filling with tears at 
the recollection of her recent loss. 

^ I never saw him," continued Dame Ermengarde ; ** he car- 
ried the old Norman scorn towards the Saxon stock, whom they 
wed but for what they can make by them, as the bramble clings 
t|> tfie elm ; — nay, never seek to vindicate him," she continue, 
oibserving ^t Eveline was about to speak, ^ I have known the 
Norman spirit for many a year ere thou wert bom." 

At this moment the steward appeared in the chamber, and, 
aft^ a lone genuflection, asked his lady's pleasure concerning the 
guard of I<&rman soldiers who remained without the mansion. 

** Norman soldiers so near the house of Baldringham I" said 
tiie old lady, fiercely ; <<who brings them hither, and for what 
purpose f 

^ They came, as I think," said the sewer, ** to wait on and guard 
ftis gracious young lady." 

** What, my daughter," said Ermengarde, in a tone of mehin- 
eholy reproach, ** darest &ou not trust thyself unguarded for one 
D^t in the castle of thy forefathers !" 

** God forbid else I" said Eveline. ** But these men are not 
raiiie, nor tmder my authori^. They are part of the train of the 
Omstable De Lacy, who left them to watch around the castje, 
thinking tiiere might be danger from robbers." 

* Bobbers," said Ermennurde, ** have never harmed the house 
el Baldringham, since a Norman robber stole from it its best 
tveasnre in the person of thy grandmother. — And so, poor bird, 
tboa art already captive — unhappy flutterer ! But it is tliy lot, 
and idierefore should I wonder or repine ! When was there fair 



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116 TALKS or THB CRUSADERS. 

maiden witih a wealthy dow«r, but she was era raatnrttjr destined 
to be the tUre of some of those petty kings, who sHow as to esU 
noHiing ours that their passions can eovet I Well — I csanoiaid 
thee — I am but a poor and neglected woman, fbeUe both from 
sex and age. — And to which of these De Laeys art tboa Urn 
desthied household dmdge V* 

A question so asked, and by one wliose prejadioes were of soeh 
a determined character, was not likely to draw from firdine anv 
confession of the real dreomstanees in which she was phMed, 
since it was but too plain her Saxon relation oonld have afforded 
her neither sound counsel nor usefkil assistance. She replied 
therefore briefly, that as the Lacys, and the Nermans in general, 
were unwelcome to her kinswoman, she woidd entreat of the 
commander of the patrol to withdraw it frtmi the neighboiffhood 
of Baldringham. 

** Not so, my niece,*' said the old lady ; ^ as we cannot escape 
the Norman neighbourhood, or get beyond the sound of thar 
curfew, it siniiftes not whether they be near o«r walls or more far 
off, so that they enter them not. — And, Berwine, bid Hundwolf 
drench the Normans with liquor, and gorge tiiem with food — 
the food of the best, and liquor of the strongest Let liiera not say 
the old Saxon hag is churlish of her hoqiitelity. Broach a piece 
of wine, for I warrant their gentle stomachs brook no ale." 

Berwine, her huge bunch of keys janglinff at her drdle, witii- 
drew to gfve the necessary directions, and presenuy returned. 
Meanwfa3e E^mengarde proceeded to question her nieoe mora 
dosely. * Is it that thou wih not, or canst not, tell me to vMiAi 
of the De Lacys thou art to be bondswoman t — to the ovei ii o e a 
ing Constable, who, sheathed in impenetrable armour, and 
mounted on a swift and strong horse as invulnerable as Umsell^ 
takes pride Ihat he rides down and stabs at his ease, and with 
perfect safety, the naked Welshmen t — or is it to Ms nephew, the 
beardless Dunian ! — or must thy possessiens go to mend a breach 
in the fortunes of that other cousin, Bandal La^, the decayed 
reveller, who, they say, can no longer ruffle it among tiie de- 
bauched cnisaders for want of means T* 

<*My honoured aunt,'* replied Eveline, naturally displeaaed 
with this discourse, ** to none of the Lacys, and I trust to none 
other, Saxon or Norman, will your kmswomaa become a hooae* 
hold drudge. There was, befin^ the deatii of my honoured fiither^ 
some treaty betwixt him and tiie Constable, on whidb account I 
cannot at present dedine his attendance ; but wfaa* may be tba 
issue of it, fate must determine." 

" But I can shew thee, niece, how the bdanoe of fete hudinea," 
said Ermengarde, in a low and mysterious Foice. * Those a^ted 
with us by blood have, in some sort, the privilege of lookiBig for^ 
ward beyond the points of present time, and seefaig in their twf 
bud the thoms or flowers whfeh are one day ta enflirde their 
head." 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 117 



H ** For mv own sake, noble kinswomany" answered EveHne, ** I 

F would decune such foreknowledge, even were it possible to ac- 

F quire it witlioat transgressing the roles of the Churdi. Gould f 

haTO foreseen what baa beuUen me within these last unhap]>y 

days, I had lost the enjoyment of eyery happy moment before 

that time." 

^Nevertheless, daughter," said the Lady of Baldringfaani, 
''Ihou, like others of <hy race, must within tms house conform to 
Ae role, of pasn^g one night within the chamber of the Red- 
Ffaiger. — Berwine, see that it be prepared for my niece's recep- 



« I— . I-*h»¥o bsard qseak of that chambeiv gracious aunt," 
said Eveline^ timidly, ^ and if it may consist with your good 
pleasure, I would not now choose to pass the nig^t there. My 
health has suffered by my late perils and fiitigiies^ and with vour 
ffood-will I wiU dday to another time tiie usage^ which I have 
heard b peeuliar to the daughters of the house of Baldringham.'* 

'^Aiid whicfa, notwithstanding, you would willingly ayoid," 
said tfa« old Saxon lady, bending her brows anerily. ^ Has not 
sseh diaobedienoe oosC your house enourii ahraady I" 

"^ Indeed, honoured and gradous Udy/* said Berwine, unable 
to lorbeiur interference, thoc^ well knowing the obstinacy of her 
patrooeai, ^ that chambw is in dinepair, and cannot eaailv on a 
soddeB be made fit for Ihe LadyEveune ; and the noble damsel 

', that, might I have 



;"thinke8t 
lbo« I win faring anger and misfortnne on my house/by suffering 
lUa nl to Isi^ve it t ' * " * _ * 

Bad-finger f Go to — let the room be made ready — small pi-e- 
, if she cherish not the Norman nicety about 



i may serv^if she cherish not the Norman nicety i 



I fM to leave it without rendering the usual homage to Uio 
1-flngerr 

led and lodging. t)o not reply ; but do aa I command thee. — * 
Aad'yon, Evehne— are you so fiur degenerated from the brave 
•pirit of your anoestry, that you dare not pass a few hours in au 
andent apartment f 

^ Yon are my hostess, gracious madam," said Eveline, << and 
iMKt assign my apartment where you judge proper — my cou* 
nife is BMh as innocence and some pride of blood and birth 
hi^ given me. It has been, of late, severely tried ; but, since 
aodh is your pleasure, and the custom of your house, my heart 
is yet stnMig enough io •encounter what you propose to subject 
nwto." 

She pauBd hare hi displeasure ; for she resented, in some 
ineaaui'g, her aunt's conduct^ as unldnd and inhospitable. And 
j«l mhm she reflected upon the foundation of the legend of the 
chamber to which she was oonsisned, she could not but regard 
the I4i4y of Baldringham as havmg considerable reason for her 
wiiiiast, aaoordmg to the traditions of the fiunily, and the belief 
of the t^mes, m which Evelme herself was devout. 



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118 TALES OF THE CRU8ADEB8. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Sometiinet, methinki, I hear the ntMns of gb<Mto, 
Then hollow sounds and lamentftbie sereamt; 
Tlien, like a dying echo from alar. 
My mother's voice, that cries, ** Wed not, Almeydft— 
Forewam'd, Almeyda, marriage It thy crime." 

DmSebasHim, 

Thb evening at Baldringham would have seemed of portentoda 
and unendurable length, had it not been that apprehended dan- 
ger makes time pass quickly betwixt us and the dreaded hour, 
and that if Eveline felt little interested or amused by the conver- 
sation of her aunt and Berwine, which turned upon the long de- 
duction of their ancestors from the warlike Horsa, and the feats 
of Saxon champions, and the miracles of Saxon monks, she was 
still better pleased to listen to these legends, than to anticipate her 
I'ctreat to the destined and dreaded apartment where she was to 
pass the night. There lacked not, however, such amusement as the 
liouse of Baldringham could afford, to pass away the evening. 
Blessed by a grave old Saxon monk, the chaphiin of the house, a 
sumptuous entertainment, which might have sufficed twenty 
hungry men, was served up before Ermengarde and her niece, 
whose sole assistants, besides the reverend man, were Berwine 
and Bose Flammock. Eveline was the less inclined to do justice 
to this excess of hospitality, that the dishes were all of the gross 
and substantial nature which the Saxons admired, but whicb' 
contrasted disadvantageously with the refined and delicate cookery 
of the Normans, as did the moderate cup of Uffht and high-fla- 
voured Gascon wine, tempered with more than naif its quantity 
of the purest water, with the mighty ale, the high-spiced pigment 
and hippocras, and the other potent hquors, which, one after 
another, were in vain proffered for her acceptance by the steward 
Hundwolf, in honour of the hospitality of Baldringham. 

Neither were the stated amusements of evening more congenial 
to Eveline's taste, than the profusion of her aunt's solid refection. 
Wlien the boards and tresses, on which tiie viands had been 
served, were withdrawn from the apartment, the menials, under 
direction of the steward, proceeded to light several long waxen 
torches, one of which was graduated for the purpose of marking 
the passing time, and dividing it into portions. These were 
announced by means of brazen balls, suspended by threads from 
the torch, the spaces betwixt them being calculated to occupy a 
certain time in burning ; so that, when the flame reached the 
thread, and the balls fell, each in succession, into a brazen basin 
placed for its reception, the office of a modem clock was in some 
degree discharged. By this light the party was amngod for 
the evening. 



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TALE I. THB BETROIHKD. lid 

' The andent Ermengarde's lofty and ample chair was removed, 
according to ancient custom, from the middle of the apartment to 
the warmest side of a large grate, filled with charcoal, and her 
goest was placed on her right, as the seat of honour. Berwine 
then arranged in due order the females of the household, and, 
having seen that each was engaged with her own proper task, sat 
herself down to ply the spindle and distaff. The men, in a more 
remote cxrde, betook themselves to the repairing of their imple- 
ments of husbandry, or new furbishing weapons of the chase, 
under the direction of the steward Hundwolf. For the amuse- 
ment of the family thus assembled, an old glee-man sung to a 
harp, which had but four strings, a long and apparently inter- 
mimi^ble legend, upon some religious subject, which was rendered 
almost unintelligible to Eveline, by the extreme and complicated 
affectation of the poet, who, in order to indulge in the alliteration 
which was accounted one great ornament of Saxon poetry, had 
sacrificed sense to sound, and used words in the most forced and 
remote sense, provided they could be compeUed into his service. 
There was also all the obscurity arising from elision, and from 
tiie most extravagant and hyperbolical epithets. 

Eveline, though well acquainted with the Saxon language, soon 
left off listening to the singer, to reflect for a moment, on the gay 
fabliaux and imaginative laU of the Norman minstrels, and then 
to anticipate, wi£ anxious apprehension, what nature of visitation 
she might be exposed to in the mysterious chamber in which she 
was doomed to pass the night 

The hour of parting at length approached. At half an hour 
before midnight, a period ascertained by the consumption of the 
huge waxen torch, the ball which was secured to it fell clanging 
mto the brazen basin placed beneath, and announced to all the 
hoar of rest. The old glee-man paused in his song, instanta- 
neously^ and in the middle of a stanza, and the household were 
all on foot at the signal, some retiring to theur own apartments, 
otiiers lighting torches or bearing lamps to conduct die visiters 
to &eir places of repose. Among these last was a bevy of bower- 
women, to whom the duty was assigned of conveying the Lady 
Eveline to her chamber for the .night. Her aunt took a solemn 
leave of her, crossed her forehead, kissed it, and whispered in her 
ear, ^ Be courageous, and be fortunate." 

■ **May not my bower-maiden, Rose Flammock, or my tire- 
woman, Dame Gillian, Raoul's wife, remain in Ihe apartment 
wkh me for this night V* said Eveline. 

* Flammock — Raoul 1" repeated Ermengarde, angrily ; " is 
Hxy household thus made up ! The Flemings are the cold palsy 
to Britain, the Normans the burning fever." 

*^ And the poor Welidi will add," said Bx>se, whose resentment 
'fei^gMi to surpass her awe for the ancient Saxon dame, <' that the 
Ang^-Saxons were the original disease, and resemble a wasting 
pieSQenee.'' 



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120 TALES OF THE 0RU8ADRR8. 

** Thoa art too b<dd, sweetheart,*' aUd the Ladv Ermeogafide, 
looking at tbe flemiiAi maiden from imder ker dant bvowa ; ^aii4 
yet there ia wit in thy worda. Saxon, Dane, and Norman, have 
ro^ed like sncoeaBve biikiwa oTer the ksd, each having wtnaiglh 
io aabdue what they laicked wisdoBi to keep. When amll it be 
otherwiBet" 

''When Saxon, and Briton, and Norman, and FlemiBg," 
answered Rose, boidly, ''ahall leam tooaU tiMmBeiWw by one 
name, and think themselves iJike ohUdren of tiie land they are 
born in.'* 

^ Ha 1*' excbUmed the Lady of Bal&nngham, in the tone of em 
half-surprised, half-pleased. Then tuning to her relaliMi, she 
said, '' There are words and wit in tins mauen ; see that she aae^ 
but do not abuse them." 

'' She is as kind and faithful, as she is pnmipt and ready* 
witted,** said Eveline. ^ I pra^ you, dearest aunt, hi me use her 
eompany for this night.'* 

^ It may not be — it were dangeroos to both. Akmeyon nniat 
learn your destiny, as have all the females of our raee, exorating 
your grandmother, and what have been the oonaeqaences of her 
neglecting the rules of our house ! Lo 1 her desoeadant stands 
before me an orphan in the very bloom of youth.** 

** I will go, then," said Eveiine, with a sigh of resignation ; 
^ and it shall never be said I incurred future we,'tosfann present 
terror." 

<' Your attendants," said the Lady Eimengarde, ^ may oooa|nr 
the anteroom, and be almost witlun your oatt. Berwine wm 
shew you the apartment — I cannot ; mr ipe, thou knowast, who 
have once entered it, return^ not tldther again. Faxewdl, my 
child, and may Heaven bless thee I" 

With more of human emotion and sympathy than she had yet 
shewn, the Lady again sahited Eveline, and signed to hmr to 
follow Bwwine, who, attended by two damsels bearing tordiea, 
waited to conduct her to the dreaded apartment 

Their torches glared idong the rudely built walls and dark 
arched roo£s of ene or two bng winding passages ; these by timi 
light enabled them to deecend the steps of a wmding stair, whose 
inequality and ruggedness shewed its antiquity ; and finally led 
into a tolerably large chamber on the lower story oi the edifice, to 
which Bome old hangings, a lively fire on the hearth, the moon- 
beams stealing throng^ a latticed window, and the boughs of a 
myrtle plant which grew around the casement, gave no vnoom^ 
fortable appearance. 

"This,'* said Berwine, "is the resting pU^e of yomr atteno 
dants," and she pointed to the coaches which had been prepared 
for Bose and Dame Gillian ; " we," die added, " proceed far&er." 

She then took a torch from the attendant maidens, both of 
whom seemed to shrink back with fear, which was r»a^ can^ 
by Dame Gillian, although she was not probably aware of the 

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XALB I. THE BETROTHED. 121 

csue. Bui Eosd Flammodc, unbiddaii, followed her mistress 
wltiioMt hesitaUiion, as Berwioa oondueted her through a small 
wiefcei «ttiie upper end of the i^partment, cleiiched wi3i many an 
iron Di^ into a setond hot emaUer anteroom or wardrobe, at the 
end of which was a similar door. This wardrobe had also its 
casement mantled with everjgreens, and, hke the former, it was 
fiund J orii^tened by the moonbeun. 

Berwme pansed here, and, pointing to Rose, demanded of 
ET^ne, "< Why does ifte follow r 

** To share my m istr es s 's danger, be it ^at it may,** answered 
B4we, with her diaraderistie raidiness of speech and res<^ation. 
'^ Snetkf" she said, '' my dearest lady," grasping £yeline*s hand, 
wfatfe she addressed her; ^yoa will not dnre yoor ftose from 
yo«t If I am less high-minded than one of your boasted race, I 
am hM, and quidL-witted in all honest senrioe. — You tremUe 
fike tiie wmptn I Bo not go into this apartment — do not be 
fiiulkd by all this pomp and mystery of terrible preparation } 
hid defiaiioe to this antiqualed, and, I think, half-pagan super- 
fllltion.'' 

^The Lady Eveline must go, minion," replied Berwine^ 
sieniy ; ^'and she must go widiout any malapert adviser or 



lust go — muit go !" repeated Rose. <' Is this Unguage to a 
tee and noMe maiden t — Sweet lady, gire me once but the least 
Idnt tiiat you wish it, and thdr * rnuitwo* shall be put to the triaL 
I w31 call from the casement on the Norman cavaliers, and t^ 
Ihem we hare fotten into a dm of witches, instead of a house of 
hoq^tiHty." 

**Sil«iioe^ madwoman," said Berwine, her Toiee quivering 
with anger and fear ; ^ yon know not who dwells in the next 



«* I wiUcaU those who will soon see to that," said Rose, flying 
totiie casement, when Eveline, seizing her arm in her turn, eom- 
pdUed her to stop. 

<<I thank thy kin Aiees, Rose," she 8iud,«but it cannot help 
me fai this matter. She who enters yonder docnr, must do so 



^ Then I will enter it in your stead, my dearest kdy," said 
Boss. ** You are pale — you are cold — you will die of terror if 
you go on. There may be as mudi of trick as of supernatural 
agency in this matter — me they shall not deceive — or if some 
■tarn spirit craves a victim, — better Rose than her lady." 

** Forbear, forbear," said Eveline, rousing up her own spirits ; 
'^vun make me ashanied of myself. This is an ancient oideal, 
which xesards the females descended from the house of Baldring- 
fcam as lir as in the tlnrd degree, and them only. I did not 
t tdWMJ expect, in my present cireumstanoes, to have been called 
mpmt to undergo it ; hut, since the hour summons me, I will meet 
toaaHreely as any of my ancestors." 



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12i2 TALES OF THB ORCJ8ADBR8; 

So saying, she took the torch from the hand of Berwine, and 
wishing go^-night to her and Rose, gently disengaged herself 
from Uie hold of the hitter, and advanced into the mysterions 
chamber. Rose pressed after her so &r as to see that it was an 
afiartment of moderate dimensions, resembling that through 
which they had Ust passed, and hghted by the moonbeams, which 
came through a window lying on the same range with those of the 
anterooms. More she could not see, for Eveline turned on the 
threshold, and kissing her at the same time, thrust her gently 
back into the smaller apartment which she had just left, shut the 
door of communication, and barred aAd bolted it, as if in security 
against her well-meant intrusion. 

Berwine now exhorted Rose, as she valued her life, to retire 
into the first anteroom, where the beds were prepared, and betake 
herself, if not to rest, at least to silence and di^votion ; but the 
faithful Flemish girl stoutly refused her entreaties, and resisted 
her M>mmands. 

^ lUk not to me of danger," she said ; ** here T remain, that I 
ma^ be at least within hearing of my mistress's danger, and wo 
betide those who shall offer her injury 1 — Take notice, that twenty 
Norman spears surround this inhospitable dwelling, prompt to 
avenge whatsoever injury shall be offered to the daughter ef 
Raymond Berenger.** 

*' Reserve your threats for those who are mortal,^ said Berwine, 
in a low, but piercing whisper ; " the owner of yonder chamber 
fears them not. Farewell — thy danger be on thine own head !** 

She departed, leaving Rose strangely agitated by what had 
passed, and somewhat appalled at her last words. ^ These Sax- 
ons," said the maiden, within herself; *< are but half converted 
after all, and hold many of their old hellish rites in the worship of 
elementary spirits. Their very saints are unlike to the saints of 
any Christian country, and have, as it were, a look of something 
savage and fiendish — their very names sound pagan and diabo- 
lical. It is fearful being alone here — and all is silent as death 
in the apartment into which my lady has been thus strangely 
compelled. Shall 1 call up Gillian ! — but no — she has neither 
sense, nor courage, nor principle, to aid me on such an occasion 
— better alone than have a false friend for company. I will see 
if the Normans are on their poet, since it is to them I must trust, 
if a moment of need should arrive.'* 

Thus reflectuig, Rose Flammock went to the window of the 
little apartment, in order to satisfy herself of the vigilance of tiie 
sentinels, and to ascertain the exact situation of the corps de 
garde. The moon was at the full, and enabled her to see with 
accuracy the nature of the ground without In the first phee, 
she was rather disappointed to find, that instead of being so near 
tlie earth as she supposed, the range of windows, which gave 
light as well to the two anterooms as to the mysterious chamber 
iteelf, looked down upon an ancient moat, by which they wera 



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TALE r. THE BETROTHED. 12.^ 

divided ftt>in tiie lerel ground on the fiuiher side. Hie defence 
which this fosse afforded seemed to haye been long neglected, and 
tlie bottom, entirely dry, was choked in many places with bushes 
and low trees, which rose up agMust the wall of the castle, and by 
means of which it seemed to Rose the windows might be eas^y 
scaled, and the mansion entered. From the level plain beyond, 
the space adjoining to the castle was in a considerable degree 
clear, and the moonbeams slumbered on its close and beautiful 
turf, mixed with long shadows of the towers and trees. Beyond 
tliis esplanade lay the forest ground, with a few gigantic oaks 
scattered individually along the skirt of its dark and ample domain, 
like champions, who take their ground of defiance in front of a 
Kne of arrayed battle. 

The calm beauty and repose of a scene so lovely, the stillness 
of all around, and the more matured reflections which the whole 
suggested, quieted, in some measure, the apprehensions which the 
events of the evening had inspired. ^ After all," ^e reflected, 
" why diould I be so anxious on account of the Lady Eveline ! 
There is among the proud Normans and the dog|;ed Saxons scarce 
a single family of note, but must needs be held aistinsuished from 
others by some superstitious observance peculiar to uieir race, as 
if they thought it scorn to go to Heaven tike a poor nmple Flem- 
ing, such as I am. — Could I but see the Norman sentinel, I would 
hM myself satisfied of my mistress's security. — And yonder one 
stalks along the gloom, wrapt in his long white mantie, and the 
moon tipping the point of his lance with silver. — What ho, 1^ 
Cavalier I" 

The Norman turned his steps, and approached the ditch as she 
^K^e. ^ What is your pleasure, damsel 1" he demanded. 

''The window next to mine is that of the Lady EveUne 
IBerenger, whom you are appointed to guard. Please to give 
heedful watch upon this side of the castle." 

" Doubt it not, lady," answered the cavatier ; and enveloping 
hmiself in bis long cnappe, or miUtary watch-cloak, he withdrew 
to a large oak-tree at some distance, and stood there with folded 
arms, and leaning on his lance, more like a trophy of armour than 
a living warrior. 

Imb^dened by the consciousness, that in case of need succour 
was dose at hand, Rose drew back into her little chamber, and 
having ascertained, by listening, that there was no noise or stirring 
in that of Eveline, she begun to make some preparations for her 
own repose. For this purpose she went into the outward ante- 
room, where Dame Gillian, whose fears had given way to the 
soporiferous effects of a copious draught of lithe-alos, (mild ale, of 
■ tm first strength and quatity,) slept as sound a sleep as thai 
generous Saxon beverage could procure. 

Muttering an indignant censure on her sloth and indiffex^nce, 
•Boee caught, from the empty couch which had been destined for 
her own u9e, the upper covering, and dragging it with her into 



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124 TALES OF THE CRUSAUEBA; 

the inner anteroom, di^Kwed it so as, with the aasistaiide of the 
rashes which strewed that axMirtment, to form a sort of conch, 
i^KHi which, half seated, half recuned, she resolved to pass the 
mght in as dose attendaoeo upon her mistress as oivenmstaDoes 
permitted. 

Thus seated, her eye on the pale pUmet which saOed in full 
glory through the blue sky of midnight, she pn^posed to hersdf 
that sleep should not visit her eyeUds till the dawu of morning 
should assure her of Evriine's safety. 

Her thoughts, meanwhile, rested on the boundless and shadowy 
worid beyond the grave, and on the great and periiaps yet unde» 
cided question, whether the separation of its inhabitants from 
those of this temporal sphere is absolute and decided, or whether, 
influenced by motives which we cannot appredate, they continue 
to hold shadowy communication with those yet existing in earthly 
veaUty of flesh and blood ! To have denied tiiis, w(mld, in the 
age of crusades and of miracles, have incurred tiie guilt of heresy ; 
but Rose's firm good sense led her to doubt at least tiie frequency 
of sup^natural interference, and she comforted harself with an 
opinion, contradicted, however, by her own involuntary starta 
and shudderings at every leaf which moved, that, in submittinff 
to the performance of ti^ rite imposed on faier, Eveline incurred 
no real danger and only sacrificed to an obsolete fiimily super* 
atition. 

As this conviction etrengtiieDed on Rose's mind, her purpose 
of vigilance began to decline-— her thoughts wandered to objects 
towards which they were not directed, like sheep wfaidi stray 
beyond the duvge of their shephord — her eyes no longer brought 
back to her a &tinct apprebtBUsion of the broad, round, rilvery 
orb on which they continued to gaze. At length they closed, and 
seated on the folded mantle, her back resting against the wall of 
the apartment, and her white arms folded on her bosom. Rose 
Fhunmock foil &st asleep. 

Her repose was fearfolly broken by a shrill and piercing shriek 
from the apartment where her lady reposed. To start up and fly 
to the door was the work of a moment with the generous girl, who 
never permitted fear to strug^e with love or du^. The door waa 
secured with both bar and l^t ; and anotiier fionter scream, or 
rather groan, seemed to say, aid must be instant, orin vain. Rose 
next nuhed to the window, and screamed ratiier than called to 
the Norman soldier, who, distinguished by the white folds of his 
watch-cloak, still retained his position under tiie old oak-tree. 

At the cry of ^ Help, help I — the Lady Eveline is murdered t*' 
the seeming statue, starting at once into active exertion, sped with 
the swiftness of a race-horse to the brink of the moat, and was 
about to cross it, opposite to the spot where Rose stood at the 
open casement, urgmg him to speed h^ voice and sesture. 
^ ''Not here — not here !" she exchumed, wi& breathless pre- 
cipitation, as she saw him make towards her — ^ the window to 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 125 

right -.flctde it, for God's sake, and undo the door of com* 



The soidier seemed to comprehend her — he dashed into the 
moat without hesitatioB, securing himself by catching at the bonghs 
ef trees as he deeeended In one moment he vaniBhed among the 
underwood ; and in another, availing himself of the branches of a 
dwarf oak, Rose saw him upon her right, and close to ihe window 
of the Ceital apartment. One fear remained — the cas^nent 
migl^t be secured against entrance from without — but no 1 at the 
thrust of the Norman it yielded, and its clasps or &stenings being 
worn with time, fell inward with a cnsh which even Dame 
Gillian's skmibers were unable to resist 

Echoing scream upon scream, in the usual £uhion d fools and 
eowardsy she entered the cabinet from the anteroom, just as the 
door ot Eveline's chamber opened, and the BolU&eat aMMMtred,bear' 
ing in his arms the half-undressed and lifeless form of the Norman 
maideii hereof. Without speaking a word, he phieed her in Rose's 
araoB^ and with the same pnoipitation with which he had entered, 
threw himae^ out of the opened window from whi^ Rose had 
sonunoDed him* 

CKlfian, half disfencted with fear and wonder, heaped exdama- 
tioiis on questions, and mingled questions with cries for help, tiH 
Roee stenily rebidced her in a tone which seemed to recall her 
scattered senses. She became then composed enough to fetch a 
lamp which remained lighted in the room she had left, and to 
render herself at least partty useful in smesting and applying 
the usual modes for recalling the suspended sense. In this they 
at length succeeded, for Eveline fetched a fuller s^, and opened 
her eyes ; but presentiiv shut thera again, and letting her head 
drop en Rose's bosom, fell into a strong shuddering fit ; while her 
feitlifhl damsd, cha&ig her hands and her temples alternately 
widi affisctionaie assiduity, and mii^ling caresses with these ellbrts, 
exdaimed aloud, " She lives ! — She k recovering ! — Praised be 
Godr 

* Praised be God !" was echoed in a solemn tone from the 
window ci the apartment ; and turning towards it in terror, Roee 
beheld the armed and phuned head c? the soldier who had come 
so opportune^ to their assistance, and who, supported bv his arms, 
had raised himself so high as to be able to look mto ttie interior 
of the cabinet. 

Rose immediatelv ran towards him. ^Go — so — good friend," 
she said ; * the lady recovers — your reward Miall await you an- 
utber time. Go^begone ! — yet stay — keep on your post, and 
Iwfflcaflyouif thereis&rtherneed. Begone— be faitiiful, and 
besecret'* 

The soldier obeyed without answering a word, and she presently 
saw him descend into tl^ moat. Rose then returned back to h^ 
mlwtrrBH, whom she found supported by GiHian, moaning feebly, 
aad lacttering hurried and unintelligibfe ejacubktionsy all intima- 



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12<5 TALES OP THE CBUSADERB; 

ting that she had laboured under a Tioleut shock sastained from 
some alarming caose. 

Dame Gillian had no sooner recovered some degree of self- 
poHsession, than her curiosity became active in proportion^ 
^ What means all this !'' she said to Rose ; '< what has been doing 
among you V 

•* I do not know," replied Kose. 

<< If you do not," said Gillian, " who should ! — Shall I call the 
other women, and raise the house !*' 

** Not for your life,** said Rose, ** till my Udy is able to give 
her own orders ; and for this apartaient, so help roe Heaven, as I 
will do my best to discover the secrets it contains ! — Support my 
mistress die whilst.*' 

So saying, she took the lamp in her hand, and, crossing her 
brow, stepped boldly across the mysterious threshold, and, holdr 
ing up the light, surveyed the apartment. 

it was merely an old vaulted chamber, of very moderate 
dimensions. In one comer was an image of the Virgin, rudely 
cut, and placed above a Saxon font of curious workmanship. 
There were two seats and a couch, covered with coarse tapestry, 
on which it seemed that Eveline had been reposing. The frag- 
ments of the shattered casement lay on the floor ; but that open- 
ing had been only made when the soldier forced it in, and she saw 
no other access by which a stranger could have entered an apart- 
ment, the ordinary access to which was barred and bolted. 

RoMse felt the influence of those terrors which she had hitherto 
surmounted ; she cast her mantle hastily around her head, as if 
to shroud her sight from some blighting vision, and tripping back 
to the cabinet, with more speed and a less firm step than ^en 
she left it, she directed Gillian to lend her assistance in convey- 
ing Eveline to the next room ; and having done so, carefully 
secured the door of communication, as if to put a barrier betwixt 
them and the suspected danger. 

The lady Eveline was now so far recovered that she could sit 
up, and was trying to speak, though but faintly. '^ Rose," she 
said at length, ^ I have seen her — ray doom is sealed.*' 

Rose immediately recollected the imprudence of suffering 
Gillian to hear what her mistress might say at such an awful 
moment, and hastily adopting the proposal she had before de- 
clined, desired her to go and call other two maidens of their 
mistress's household. 

** And where am I to find them in this house," said Dame 
Gillian, " where strange men run about one chamber at midnight, 
and devils, for aught I know, frequent the rest of the habi- 
tation ?" 

'* Find them where you can," said Rose, sharply ; ** but begone 
presently." 

Gillian withdrew lingeringly, and muttering at the same time 
something which could not distinctly be understood. No sooner 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 127 

was she gone, ihan Rose, giTing way to the enthunastio affection 
which she felt for her mistress, implored her, in the most tender 
terms, to open her eyes, (for she had again closed them,) and 
speak to Rose, her own Rose, who was ready, if necessary, to die 
hy her mistress's side. 

*« To-morrow — to-morrow. Rose," murmured ETeline — ** I 
cannot speak at present." 

**Only disburden your mind with one word — tell what has 
thus alarmed you — what danger you apprehend." 

«I have seen her," a!nswered* Eveline — ** I have seen the 
tenant of yonder chamber — the vision fatal to my race ! — Urge 
me no more — to-morrow yon shall know all."* 

As Gillian entered with two of the maidens of her mistress's 
household, they removed the Lady Eveline, by Rose's directions, 
into a chamber at some distance which the latter had occupied, 
and placed her in one of their beds, where Rose, dismissing the 
others (Gillian excepted) to seek repose where they could find it, 
continued to watch her mistress. For some time she continued 
very much disturbed, but, gradually, fatigue, and the influence of 
some narcotic which Gillian had sense enough to recommend and 
prepare, seemed to compose her spirits. She fell into a deep 
shraiber, from which she did not awaken until the sun was high 
over the distant hills. 



CHAPTER XV. 

I see a hand you cannot see, 

Which beckons me away ; 
I hear a voice you cannot hear, 

Wliich says I must not stay. 

Mallbt. 

When Eveline first opened her eyes, it seemed to be without 
any recollection of what had passed on the night preceding. She 
fooked round the apartment, which was coarsely and scantily 
furnished, as one destined for the use of domestics and menials, 
and said to Rose, with a smile, « Our good kinswoman maintains 
tiie ancient Saxon hospitality at a homely rate, so far as lodging 
is concerned. I could have willingly parted with last mghts 
profiise supper, to have obtained a bed of a softer texture. Me^ 
thinks my limbs feel as if I had been under all the flails of a 
Franklin's barn-yard." 

* I am glad to see you so pleasant, madam," answered lU>8e, 
discreetly avoiding any reference to the events of the night 
before* 

. Dame Gillian was not so scrupulous. "Your ladyship last 

i^t lay down on a better bed than this," she said, " unless I am 

♦ See Note F. Bahr-CMiL 



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188 TALES OP THE CRUSADEBS. 

much mistaken ; and Boee Fbonmoek and yoofiell kninr bcal 

why you left it." 

If a look oould have killed, Dame Gillian weald hare beoi in 
deadly peril from that which Rose shot at bar, by way of rebnke 
for this ill-advised oommunication. It had insfiantiy the effect 
which was to be apprehended, for Lady Eveline seemed at first 
surprised and confii8ed ; then, as recollections of the past arranged 
thraosehres in her memory, she folded her hands^ looked on the 
ground, and wept bitterly, with much agitation. 

Rose entreated her to be comforted, and offered to fetch the 
old Saxon chaplain of the house to adminster spiritual consolatioDi, 
if her grief rejected temporal comfort. 

« No — call him not,*' said Eveline, raising her head and dry- 
ing her eyes — << I have had enough of Saxon kindness. What a 
fool was I to expect, in that hard and unfeeling woman, any com- 
miseration for my youth — my late suflbrings — my orphan con- 
dition I I will not permit her a poor triumph over the Norman 
blood of*Berenger, by letting her see how mueh I have suffered 
under her inhuman infliction. But first, Rose» answer me truly, 
was any inmate of Baldrindiam witnees to my disteeas M 
night r 

Rose assured her that she had been tended exclusively by her 
own retinue, herself and Gillian, Blanche and Temotte. She 
seemed to receive satisfaction from this assurance. ** Hear me, 
both of YOU," she said, *' and observe my words, as you love and 
as you &ar me. Let no syllable be, breathed from your lips of 
what has happened this night. Carry the same charge to my 
maidens. Lend me thine instant aid, Gillian, and thine, my 
dearest Rose, to change these disordered garments, and arrange 
this dishevelled hair. It was a poor vengeance she sought, and 
all because of my coimtry. I am resolved she shall not see the 
slightest trace of the sufferings she has inflicted." 

As she spoke thus, her eyes flashed with indignation, wbidi 
seemed to dry up the tears that had before fiQed them. Rose 
saw the change of her manner with a mixture of pleasure and 
eonoem, being aware that her mistress's predominant fiuling was 
iiMsident to her, as a spoiled child, who, aeeustomed to be Ivsatod 
with kindness, deference, and indulgenoe, by all around her, was 
apt to resent warmly whateii«r resembled negleet or eontradictioii. 

** God knows," said the faithful bower-maiden, •* I would hoht 
my hand out to catch drops of molten lead, rather than endure 
your tears ; and yet, my sweet mistress, I would rather at pre- 
sent see you grieved than angry. This ancient lady hath, it 
would seem, but acted according to some old superstitious rite €0 
her family, which is in part yours. Her name ia respeetafafe^ 
both from her conduct and possessions ; and hard pressed as yoa 
are by the Normans, with whom your kinswoman, the Pnoms» 
is sure to take part, I was in hope you might have had ■omeabelftsv 
and countenance from the Lady of Baldringham." 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 129 

• ** NeTer, Rbee, never," answered Eveline ; "yon know not — 
jou cannot guess wbat she has made me suffer — exposing me to 
witchcraft and fiends. Thyself said it, and said it truly — the 
Saxons are still half Pagans, void of Christianity, as of nurture 
and kindliness.** 

« Ay, but,*' replied Rose, " I spoke then to dissuatte you from 
a danger; now ^t the danger is passed and over, 1 may judge 
of it otherwise.** 

" Speak not for them. Rose,** replied Eveline, ftngrily ; " no 
innocent victim was ever offered up at the altar of a fiend with 
more indifference than my father's kinswoman delivered up me 
— me an orphan, bereaved of my natural and powerful support. 
I hate her crue% — I hate her house — I hate the thought of all 
that has happened here — of all. Rose, except thy matchless fSaith 
and fearless attachment Go, bid our train saddle directly ~ I 
will be gone instantly — I will not attire myself,** she added, re- 
jecting the assistance she had at first required — ^ I will have no 
ceremony — tarry for no leave-taking.*' 

In^ the hurried and agitated manner of her mistress. Rose re- 
cognized with anxiety another mood of the same irritable and 
excited temperament, which had before discharged itself in tears 
and fits. But perceiving, at the same time, that remonstrance 
was in vain, she gave me necessary orders for collecting their 
company, saddling, and preparing for departure ; hoping, that aa 
her mistress removed to a farther distance from the scene where 
her mind had received so severe a shock, her equanimity might, 
by degrees, be restored. 

' Dame Gillian, accordingly, was busied with arranging th^ 
packages of her lady, and all the rest of Lady Eveline*s retinue 
m preparing for instant departure, when, preceded by her stew- 
ard, who acted also as a sort of gentleman-usher, leaning upon 
her confidential Berwine, and followed by two or three more of 
tlie most distinguished of her household, with looks of displeasure 
on her ancient yet lofty brow, the Lady Ermengarde entered tlie 
apartment. 

Eveline, with a trembling and hurried hand, a burning cheek* 
and other signs of agitation, was herself busied about the arrange- 
ment of some baggage, when her relation mad^ her appearance. 
At once, to Rose's great surprise, she exerted a strong command 
over herself, and, repressing every external appearance of dis- 
order, she advanced to meet her relation, with a calm and haughty 
stateliness equal to her own. * 

" I come to give you good morning, our niece," said Ermen- 
garde, haughtily indeed, yet with more deference than she seemed 
at first to have intended, so much did the bearing of Eveline im* 
pose respect upon iier ; — **1 find that you have been pleased to 
shift that chamber which was assigned you, in conformity with 
the ancient Custom of this household, and betake yourself to tho 
apartment of a menial.'* 

VOL. XIX. I 



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130 TALKS OF THE CRUSADEBfl* 

^ Are yoa Mnprised at that, lady f* demanded EreHne in her 
turn ; ^ or are y«u disappointed that yon find me not a corpse^ 
within the limits of the chamber which your hospitality and affec« 
tion allotted to me t" 

^ Your sleep, then, has been broken f ' said Ermasgarde, look^ 
ing ftxedly at ^ Lady Eveline, as she spokcik 

<< If r complain not^ madao^ Ae evil nmst be deemed of tittle 
consequence. What has happened is over and past, and it is no4 
my intentioa to trouble you with the recital." 

*^ She of the ruddy finger,*' replied Ermengarde^ triun^khantly, 
^ loves not the blood of the stranger." 

'* She had less reason, while i^ walked the earth, to love that 
of the Saxon," said Eveline^ ^ ualesB her legend speaks faiae in 
that matter ; and unless, as I well suspect, your house is haunted, 
not by the soul of the dead who suffered within its walls, but by 
evil spirits, such as the descendants of Hengisi and Horsa are 
said still in secret to worship." 

^ You are pleasant, maiden," replied the old lady, seomfuUy, 
^ or, if your words are meant in earnest, the shaft criT your cen- 
sure has glanced asidOh A bouse, blessed by the holy Saint 
Dunstan, and by the reyal and holy Confessor, is no alx>de for 
evil spirits." 

'* The house of Baldringham," replied Eveline, '^ is no abode 
for tliose who fear such spirits ; and as I will, with all humility, 
avow myself of the number, I shall presently leave it to the cus- 
tody of Saiut Dunstua." 

*' Not till you have broken your fast, I trust !" said the Lady 
of Baldringham, ; '< yeu will not, I hope, do my years^ and our 
relationship such loul disgrace f" 

** Pardon me, madam, replied the Lady Eveline ; ^ Uiose who 
have experienced your hospitaHty at night, have little occasion 
for breakfast in tiie morning. — Rose, are not those loitering 
knaves assembled in the court-yard, or are they yet on their 
couches, makiug up for the slumber they have Irat by midnight 
disturbances 1" 

Rose announced that her train was in the oourt^and mounted ; 
when, with a low reverence, Eveline endeavoured to pass her 
relation, and leave the apartment without farther ceremony. 
Ermengarde at first confronted her with a grim and furious 
glance, which seined to shew a soul fraught with more rage than 
the thin blood and rigid features of extreme old age m^d the 
power of expressing^ and raised her ebony staff as if about eveu 
to proceed to some act of personal violence. But she changed 
her purpose, and suddenly made way for Eveline, who passed 
without farUier parley ; and as she descended the staircase^ 
which conducted from the apartment to the gateway, she heard 
tlie voice of her aunt behind her, like that of an aged and 
offended sibyl, denouncing wrath and wo upon her iBtt>lettce and 
presumption. 



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TALE I. TSB BSTROTHED. 131 

^ Pride,** she exdainiedy ^geeih before destmetioii, and a 
haogfaty 8|»irit befcnre a &U. She who soometh the house of her 
forefathers, a stone from its battlements shall crush her ! Sh» 
who Bioehs the gray hairs of a parent, never shall one of her own 
locks be silvered with aoe I She who weds with a man of war 
and of blood, her end ehiul neither be peaceful nor bloodless !** 

UurryiBg to escape from these and other ominous denuncia- 
tions, Eveline rushed from the house, mounted her palfrey with 
the precipitation of a furtive, and, surrounded by her attendants, 
who had caught a part of hw ahmn, thoueh without conjecturing 
the causey rode hastily into the forest ; old Raoal, who was well 
acquainted with the country, acting as their guide. 

Agitated more than she was willing to confess to herself, by 
thus leaving the habitation of so near a relation, loaded with 
maledietions, instead of the blessings whidi are usually bestowed 
on a departing kinswoman, Eveline hastened forward, until the 
huge oaJc-trees with intervening arms had hidden from her view 
the latal mansion. 

The trampling and gaDoping of horse was soon after heard, 
announcing the ap^oach of t^ patrol left by the Constable for 
the protection of the sfBanoOp and who now, coUecAing fr«m 
their different stations, came prepared to attend the Lady Eve- 
line on her farther road to GlotKestw, great part of which lay 
through the extensive forest of Deane, then a silvan regicm of 
large extent, though now mueh denuded of trees for the service 
of Sie iron mines. The cavaliers came up to ioin the retinue of 
Lady Eveline, with armour glittering in the morning rays, 
trumpets sounding, horses prancing, neighing, and thrown, each 
by his chivafrous rider, into the attitude best qualified to exhibit 
the beauty of the steed and dexterity of the horseman ; while 
their lances, streaming with long penonceUes, were brandished in 
every manner which could display elation of heart and readiness 
of hand. The sense of the military character of hereountrymen 
of Normandy gave to Eveline a feeling at onoe of security and of 
triumph, which operated towards the dispelling of her gloomy 
thoughto, and of the ieverish disorder which affected her nerves. 
The rising sun also— the song of the birds among the bowers — 
the lowing of the cattle as they were driven to pasture — the 
si^t of the hind, who, with her fawn trotting by her side, often 
crossed some forest glade within view of the travellers, — ail con- 
tributed to dispel the terror of Eveline's nocturnal visions, and 
soothe to rest the more angry passions which had agitated her 
bosom at her departure from Baldringham. She suffered her 
palfrey to slacken his pace, and, wit^ female attention to pro- 
priety, began to adjust her riding robes, and compose her head- 
dress, disordered in her hasty departure. Rose saw her cheek 
asRume a paler but more settled hue, instead of the angry hectic 
«bich had coloured it— saw her eye become more steady as she 
VH)ked witli a sort of triumph upon her military attendants, and 



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132 TALES OF THE CRUSJl^DEIlS. 

pardoned (what on other occasions she would probably Haye mad« 
some reply to) her enthusiastic exclamations in praise of her 
oountrymen. 

*^ We journey safe/' said Ereline, ^ under the care of the 
princely and Tictorious Normans. Theirs is the noble wrath of 
the lion^ which destroys or is appeased at once — there is no< 
guile in their romantic affection, no sullennees mixed with their 
generous indignation — they know the duties of the hall as well 
as those of battle ; and were they to be surpassed in the arts of 
war f which will only be when Plinlimmon is removed from its 
base,) they would still remain superior to every other people in 
generosity and courtesy.'* 

'^ If I do not feel all theur merits so strongly as if I shared 
their blood," said Rose, '^ I am at least glad to see them around 
us, in woods which are said to abound with dangers of various 
kinds. And I confess, my heart is the lighter, that I can now 
no longer observe the least vestige of that ancient mansion, in 
which we passed so unpleasant a night, and the recollection of 
which will always be odious to me." 

Eveline looked sharply at her. ^ Confess the truth. Rose ; 
thou wouldst give thy best kirtle to know all of my horrible 
adventure." 

*' It is but confesdng that I am a woman," answered Rose ; 
^ and did I say a man, I dare say the difference of sex would 
imply but a small abatement of curiosity." 

^ Thou makest no parade of other feelings, which prompt thee 
to inquire into my fortunes," said Eveline ; ** but, sweet Rose, I 
eive thee not the less credit for them. Believe me, thou shalt 
Enow all — but, I think, not now." 

'<At your pleasure," said Rose; ''and yet, methinks, the 
bearing in your solitary bosom such a fearful secret will only 
render the weight more intolerable. On my silence you may 
rely as on that of tlie Holy Image, which hears us confess what 
it never reveals. Besides, such things become familiar to the 
imagination when they have been spoken of, and that which is 
familiar gradually becomes stripped of its terrors." 

** Thou speakest with reason, my prudent Rose ; and surely in 
this gallant troop, borne like a flower on a bush by my good 
palfrey Yseulte — fresh gales blowing round us, flowers opening 
and birds sin^ng, and having thee by my bridle-rein, I ought to 
feel this a fitting time to communicate what thou hast so ^x>d a 
title to know. And — yes ! — thou shalt know all ! — Thou art 
not, I presume, iniorant of the qualities of what the Saxons of 
this land call a B^kr-geist ?" 

•* Pardon me, Uwiy," answered Rose, ** my father discouraged 
my listening to such discourses. I might see evil spirits enough, 
he said, without my imagination being taught to form such as 
were fantastical. The word Bahr-geist, I have heard used by 
Gillian and other Saxons ; but to me it only conveys some idea of 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 13S 

iRdefinite terror, of whieh I have never askeJT nor received an 
explanation." 

** Know then," said Eveline, ** it is a spectre, usually the image 
of a departed person, who, either for wrong sustained in some 
particular place during life, or through treasure hidden there, or 
from some such other cause, haunts the spot from time to time, 
becomes familiar to those who dwell there, takes an interest in 
their fate, occasionally for good, in other instances or times for 
evil. The Bahr-geist is, therefore, sometimes regarded as the 
good genius, sometimes as the avenging fiend, attached to partir 
cular fiunilies and classes of* men. It is the lot of Uie family of 
Baldringham (of no mean note in other respects) to be subject to 
the visits of such a being." 

^ May I ask the cause (if it be known) of such visitation !" 
said Rose, desirous to avail herself to the uttermost of the com* 
municative mood of her young lady, which might not perhaps 
last very long. 

** I know the legend but imperfectly," replied EveUne, pro- 
ceeding with a degree of calmness, the result of strong exex^on 
ever her mental anxiety, ** but in general it runs thus : — Bald* 
rick, the Saxon hero who first possessed yonder dwelling, became 
enamoured of a fair Briton, said to have been descended from 
those Dniids of whom the Welsh speak so much, and deemed 
not unacquainted with the arts of 80i*cery which they practised, 
when they offered up human sacrifices amid those circles of un- 
hewn and living rock, of which thou hast seen so many. After 
more than two years* wedlock, Baldrick became weary of his wife 
to such a point, that he formed the cruel resolution of putting 
her to death. Some say he doubted her fidelity — some that the 
matter was pressed on him by the church, as she was suspected 
of heresy — some that he removed her to make way for a more 
wealthy marriage — but all agree in the result. He sent two of 
his CiUchts to the house of Baldringham, to put to death the 
unfortunate Vanda, and commanded them to bring him the ring 
which had circled her finger on the day of wedlock, in token that 
his orders were accomplished. The men were ruthless in their 
office; they strangled Vanda in yonder apartment, and as the 
band was so swollen that no effort could draw off the ring, they 
obtained possession of it by severing the finger. But long before 
the return of those cruel perpetrators of her death, the shadow 
of Vanda had appeared before her appalled husband, and holding 
up to him her bloody hand, made him fearfully sensible how well 
his savage commands had been obeyed. After haunting him iu 
peace and war, in desert, court, and camp, until he died despair- 
ingly on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, the Bahr-geist, or ghost 
tyf the murdered Vanda, became so terrible in the House of 
Baldringham, that the succour of Saint Dunstan was itself 
scarcely sufficient to put bounds to her visitation. Yea, the 
bleased aaint^ when he had succeeded in his exorcism, did, in 



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IM TALES OF THE CRUSADKK8. 

r<M|uitaI of Baldrick's crime, knpoae a strong un4 enditrinc 
penalty upon every female descendant of the house in the thirl' 
degree; namely, tiiat once in tbehr lives, and before their 
twenty-first year, they should each spend a solitary nigltt in tlie 
chamber of the murdered Vanda, saying therein certain prayers^ 
as well for her repose, as for the suffering soul of her nmrd e rer. 
During that awful sparse, it is generally believed that the spirit of 
the murdered person appears to the female who observes the 
vigil, and shews some sign of her future good or bad fortune. 
If favourable, she appears widi a smiling aspect, lilid crosses 
them with her uubloodied hand ; but she announces evil fortune 
by shewing the hand from which the finger was severed, with a 
stern countenance, as if resenting upon the descendant of her 
Lutfband his inhuman cruelty. £>metimes she i^ said to speak. 
These particulars I learned Ions since from an old Saxon dame, 
the mother of our Margery, ^o had been an attendant on ray 
grandmother, and left the House of Baldringham when she made 
her escape from it with my &tfaer*s fiUher." 

" Did your grandmother ever render this homage," said Roaey 
*< which seems to me — under favour of Samt Dunstau — to 
bring humanity into too dose intercourse with a being of a 
douUful nature !*' 

" My grandfather thought so, and never permitted ray grand- 
mother to revisit the House of Baldringham after her marriage ; 
hence disunion Wtwixt him and his son on the one part, and the 
members of that family on the other. They hud sundry misfor- 
tunes, and particulariy the loss of male heirs which at that time 
befell them, to my parent's not bavine done the hereditary 
homage to the bloody-fingered Bahr-eeist."' 

^ And how could you, my dearest mdy," said Boee, ^ knowing 
that they held among them a usage so hideous, thmk if accepting 
the invitation of Lady Ermengarde f ' 

'^l can hardly answer you the ^(ttestion," answered Eveline* 
** Partly I feared my father's recent calamity, to be slain (as I 
have heard him say his aunt once prophesied of him) by the 
enemy he most despised, might be the result of this rite having 
been neglected ; and partly I hoped, that if my mind should be 
appalled at the danger, when it presented itself closer to my eye, 
it could not be urged on me in courtesy and humanity. You 
saw how soon my cruel-hearted relative pounced upon the oppor* 
tunity, and how impossible it became for me, bearing the name, 
and, I trust, the spirit of Bei-enger, to escape from the net in 
which I had involved myself." 

**No regard for name or rank should have engaged me,*' 
replied Rose, ^ to place myself where apprehension alone, evea 
without the terrors of a real vintation, might have punished mj 
presumption with insanity. But what, in the name of Heaven, 
did you see at this horrible rendezvous V* 

^ Ay, there is the question,*' said Eveline, rauung her hand 4e 



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TALE I. THE BETBOTHED. 135 

her broW^ — ^'liow I eonld witness tiiat which { distlmstiy saw, 
yet be able to retain command of thonght and inteUect I — I had 
redted the pveocribed devotions for the murderer and his rictim, 
and sitting down on the couch which was assigned me, had laid 
aside soeii of ray clothes as might impede my rest — I had sur- 
mounted, in short, the first shock which 1 experienced in com- 
mitting myself to this mysterious diamber, and I hoped to pass 
the B^^ in slumber as sound as my thoughts were innocent. 
But I was fearfully disappointed. I cannot judge how long I had 
slept, when my bosom was oppressed by an unusual weight 
vlucli seemed at once to stifle my voice, stop the beating of my 
heart, and prevent me from drawing my breath; and when I 
looked up to discover the cause of this horrible suffocation, the 
form of ihe murdered British matron stood over my couch taller 
than life, shadowy, and with a countenance where traits of 
dignity and beauty were mingled with a fierce expression of 
vewg^l exultation. She held over me the hand whidi bore the 
bloody raaria <^ her husband's cruelty, and seemed as if she 
signed the cross, devoting me to destruction ; while, with an un- 
eiurthly tone, she uttered these words: — 

* Widow'd wife, nnd married maid. 

Betrothed, betrayer, and betray 'd !* 

Hie phaQtom stooped over me as she spoke, and lowered her 
gory fingers, as if to toudi my fJEtce, when, terror giving me the 
power c? which at first it deprived me^ I screamed aloud — the 
casement of the apartment was thrown open with a loud noise, — 
and — But what signifies my telling all this to thee. Rose, who 
shew so plainly, by the movement of eye and lip, that you con- 
sider me as a dlly and childish dreamer V* 

**Be not angry, my dear lady,** said Rose; ''I do indeed 
believe that the witch we call Mara * has been dealing with you ; 
but she, yon know, is by leeches considered as no real phantom, 
but solely the creation of our own imagination, disordered by 
causes which arise from bodily indisposition.*' 

** Thou art learned, maiden,*' said Evdine, rather peevishly ; 
^.but when I assure thee that my better angel came to my 
assistanee in a human form — that at his appearance the fiend 
vanished —and that he transported me in his arms out of the 
chamber of terror, I think thou wilt, as a good Christian, put 
more fiiith in that whidi I tell you.'* 

'^ Indeed, indeed, my sweetest mistress, I cannot,** replied 
Rose. ^'It is even that circumstance of the guardian angel 
which makes me consider the whole as a dream. A Norman 
sentinel, whom I myself called from his post on purpose, did 
indeed oome to your assistance, and, breaking into your apart- 
ment, transported you to that where I myself received you from 
ba» arms in a lifeless condition.** 

^ ▲ Norman soldier, ha !'* said Ev^eline, colouring extremely ; 
* Ephialtefl. or Nightmare. 



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13« TALES OP THE CRUSADERSV 

^ and to whom, maiden, did you dare give oommiasion to break 
into my sleeping-chamber !" 

^^Yoiir eyes flash anger, madam, but is it reasonable they 
should ! — Did T not hear your screams of agony, and was I to 
stand fettered by ceremony at such a moment! — no more thaa 
if the castle had been on fire." 

^ I ask you again, Rose," said her mistress, still with discom- 
posure, though less angrily than at first, " whom you directed to 
break into my apartment !" 

*< Indeed, I know not, lady," said Rose ; " for besides that he 
was muffled in his mantle, little chance was there of my knowing 
his features, even had I seen them fuUy. But I can soon dis- 
cover the cavalier ; and I will set about it, that I may give him 
the reward I promised, and warn him t6 be silent and discreel . 
in this matter." 

"Do so," said Eveline; "and if you find him among those 
soldiers who attend us, I will indeed lean to thine opinion, and 
think that fantasy had ^e chief share in the evils I have endured 
the last night." 

Rose struck her palfrey with the rod, and, accompanied by her 
mistress, rode up to Philip Guarine, the Constable's squire, who 
for the present commanded their little escort. *' Good Guarine," 
she said, " I had talk with one of these sentinels last night from 
my window, and he did me some service, for which I promised 
him recompense — Will you inquire for the man, that I may 
pay him his guerdon 1" 

'* Truly, I will owe him a guerdon also, pretty maiden,'* 
answered the squire ; " for if a lance of them approached near 
enough the house to hold speech from the windows^ he trans-* 
gressed the precise orders of his watch." 

" Tush ! you must forgive that for my sake," said Rose. " I 
warrant, had I called on yourself, stout Guarine, I should have 
had influence to bring you under my chamber window." 

Guarine laughed, and shrugged his shoulders. " True it is," 
he said, ** when women are in place, discipline is in danger." 

He then went to make the necessary inquiries among his 
band, and returned with the assurance, that his soldiers, gene- 
rally and severally, denied having approached the mansion of tlie 
Lady Ermengarde on the preceding night. 

"Thou seest. Rose," said Eveline, with a agnificant look to 
her attendant. 

" The poor rogues are afraid of Guarine's severity," said 
Rose, '^ and dare not tell the truth — I shall have some one ia 
private claiming the reward of me." 

" I would I had the priWlege myself, damsel," said Guarine ; 
" but for these fellows, they are not so timorous as you suppose 
them, being even too ready to avouch their roguery when it hath 
less excuse — Besides, I promised them impunity. — Have, you 
any thing farther to order t" 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED, 137 

''Nothing, good Guarine/' said Eveline; ^only Ibis small 
duuadve to procure wine for thy soldiers, that they may spend 
the next night more merrily than the last. — And now he is 
gone, — Maiden, thou must, I think, he now well aware, that 
what thou sawest was no earthly being !'* 

*< I must believe mine own ears and eyes, madam," replied 
Rose. 

**Do — but allow me the same privilege," answered Eveline. 
** Believe me that my deliverer (for so I must call him) bore the 
features of one who neither was, nor could be, in the neighbour- 
hood of Baldringham. — Tell me but one thing — What dost th<Su 
think of this extraordinary prediction — 

* Widow'd wife, and wedded maid. 
Betrothed, betrayer, and betray'd? " 

Thou wilt say it is an idle invention of my brain — but think it 
for a moment the speech of a true diviner, and what wouldst thou 
say of it f* 

** That you may be betrayed, my dearest Udy, but never can 
be a betrayer," answered Rose, with animation. 

Eveline reached her hand out to her friend, and as she pressed 
affectionately that which Rose gave in return, she whispered to 
her with energy, '* I thank thee for the judgment, which my own 
heart confirms." 

A cloud of dust now announced the approach of the Constable 
of Chester and his retinue, augmented by the attendance of his 
host Sir William Herbert, and some of his neighbours and kins* 
men, who came to pay their respects to the orphan of the Garde 
Doloureuse, by which appellation Eveline was known upon her 
passage through their territory. 

Eveline remarked, that, at their greeting, De Lacy looked with 
displeased surprise at the disarrangement of her dress and 
equipage, which her hasty departure from Baldringham had 
necessarily occasioned; and she was, on her part, struck with 
an expression of countenance which seemed to say, ^ I am not to 
be treated as an ordinary person, who may be received with 
negligence, and treated slightly with impunity." For the first 
time, she thought that, though always deficient in grace and 
beauty, the Constable's countenance was formed to express the 
more angry passions with force and vivacity, and that she who 
shared his rank and name must lay her account with the im- 
plicit surrender of her will and wishes to those of an arbitrary 
ford and master. 

But the cloud soon passed from the Constable's brow ; and in 
the conversation which he afterwards maintained with Herbert 
and the other knights and gentlemen, who from time to time 
came to greet and accompany them for a little way on their jour- 
ney, Eveline had occasion to admire his superiority, both of sense 
and expression, and to remark the attention and deference with 



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138 TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 

# 

which h!s words were listened to by men too high in rank, und 
too proud, readilj to admit any pre-eminence that was not 
foanded on acknowledged merit. The regard of women is gene- 
rally much influenced by the estimation which an individual 
maintains in the opinion of men ; and Eveline, when she cob- 
dttded her joamey in the Benedictine nunnery in Gloucester, 
could not think wi^out respect upon the renowned warrior, and 
celebrated politician, wbeee acknowledged abilities appeared to 
place him above every one whom she had seen approach him. 
His wife, Eveline thought, (and she was not without ambition,) if 
relinquisbiiig some of those qualities in a husband which are in 
youth most captivating to the female imagination, must be still 
generally honoured and respected, and have contentment, if not 
romantic felicity, within her reach. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

Thr Lady Eveline remained nearly four months with her annt, 
the Abbess of the Benedictine nunnery, under whose auspices the 
Constable of Chester saw his suit advance and prosper as it would 
probaMy have done under that of the deceased Baymond 
Berenger, her brother. It is probable, however, that, but fat tlie 
supposed vision of the Virgin, and the vow of gratitude whicli 
that supposed vision had called forth, the natural dislike of so 
young a person to a match so unequal in years, might have 
eflectually opposed his success. Indeed Eveline, while honouring 
^he Constable's virtues, doing justice to his high character, and 
admiring his talents, could never altogether divest herself of a 
secret fear of him, which, while it prevented her from expressing 
any direct disapprobation of his addresses, caused her sometimes 
to shudder, she scarce knew why, at the idea of their becoming 
SuccessfuL 

The ominous words, ^ betraying and betrayed," would then 
occur to her memory ; and when lier aunt (the period of the 
deepest mourning being elapsed) had fixed a period for her be- 
trothal, she looked forward to it with a feeling of terror, for which 
ehe wa« unable to account to herself, and which, an well as the 
particulars of her dream, she concealed even from Father Aldro- 
vand in the hours of confession. It was not aversion to the 
Constable — it was far less preference to any other suitor — it 
was one of those instinctive movements and emotions by which 
Nature seems to warn us of ap[nroacfaing danger, though furnish- 
ing no information respecting its nature, and siiggesting no means 
of escaping from it 

So strong were tliese intervals of apprehension, that if they 
had been seconded by the remonstrances of Rose Flammock, as 
formerly, they might perhaps have led to Eveline's yet forming 



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TALE 1. THE BBTROTHEI>. 139 

•nme resf^ntion mifaroiirable to the suit of the Conrtable. But, 
still more zealous for her ladjr's honour than even for her happi- 
ness. Rose had strictly forebome every effort which could ali'eet 
Ereline's purpose, when she had once expressed her approbation 
of De Lacy's addresses ; and whatever she thoujzht or anticipated 
concerning the proposed marriage, she seemed from that moment 
to consider it as an event which must necessarily take place. 

De Lacy himself, as he learned more intimately to know the 
merit <^ ^e prize whieh he was desirous of possessing, looked 
forward with different feelings towards the union, than those with 
which he had first proposed the measure to Raymond Beren;;er. 
It was then a mere mateh of interest and convenience, which had 
occurred to the mind of a proud and politic feudal lord, as tlie 
best mode of consolidating the power and perpetuating the line of 
his £unily. Nor did even the splendour of £veline*s beauty 
make thiU impression upon De Lacy, which it was calculated to 
do on the fiery and impassioned chivalry of the age. He was 
past that period oi life when the wise are captivated by outwai*d 
form, and might have said with truth, as well as with discretion, 
that he could have wished his beautiful bride several years older, 
and possessed of a more moderate portion of personal charms, in 
order to have rendered the matoh more fitted for his own age 
and disposition. This stoicism, however, vanished, when, on 
repeated interviews with his destined bride, he found that »lie 
was indeed inexperienced in life, but desirous to be guided by 
superior wisdom ; and that, although gifted with high spirit, and 
a disposition which began to recover its natoral elastic gaiety, slie 
was gentle, docile, and, above all, endowed with a firmness of 
principle, which seemed to give assurance that she would tread 
uprightly, and without spot, the slippery paths in which youth, 
rank, and beauty, are doomed to move. 

As feelings of a warmer and more impassioned kind towards 
Eveline be^ui to glow in De Lacy's bosom, his engagements as 
a crusader became more and more burdensome to him. The 
Benedictine Abbess, the natural guardian of £veline*s happiness^ 
added to these feelings by her reasoning and remonstrances. 
Although a nun and a devotee, she held in reverence the holy 
state of matrimony, and comprehended so much of it as to be 
aware, that its important purposes could not be accomplished 
while the whole continent of Europe was interposed betwixt the 
married pair ; for as to a hint from the Constable, that his young 
spouse might accompany him into the dangerous and dissolute 
precincts of the Crusaders' camp, the good lady crossed herself 
with horror at the proposal, and never permitted it to be a second 
time mentioned in her presence. 

It was not, however, uncommon for kings, princes, and other 
persons of high consequence, who had taken upon them the 
vow to rescue Jerusalem, to obtain delays, and even a total 
femiaaioii of their engagement, by proper application to tha 



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140 TALES OP THE OBUSADERS. 

Church of Rome. The Constable was sure to possess the full 
advantage of his, sovereign's interest and countenance, in seeking 
permission to remain in England, for he was the noble to whose 
valour and policy Henry had chiefly intrusted the defence of the 
disorderly Welsh marches ; and it was by no means with his 
good-will that so useful a subject had ever assumed the cross. 

It was settled, therefore, in private betwixt the Abbess and the 
Constable, that the latter should solicit at Rome, and with the 
Pope's Legate in England, a remission of his vow for at least two 
years ; a favour which it was thought could scarce be refused to 
<me of his wealth and influence, backed as it was with the most 
liberal offers of assistance towards the redemption of the Holy 
Land. His offers were indeed munificent ; for he proposed, if 
his own personal attendance were dispensed with, to send an 
hundred lances at his own cost, each lance accompanied by two 
squires, three archers, and a varlet or horse-boy ; being double 
the retinue by which his own person was to have been accom« 
panied. He offered besides to deposit the sum of two thousand 
bezants to the general expenses of the expedition, to surrender 
to the use of the Christian armament those equipped vessels 
which he had provided, and which even now awaited ^e embarka* 
tion of himself and his followers. 

Yet, while making these magnificent proffers, the Constable 
could not help feeling they would be inadequate to the expecta- 
tions of the rigid prelate Baldwin, who, as he had himself preached 
the crusade, and brought the Constable and many others into 
that holy engagement, must needs see with displeasure the work 
of his eloquence endangered, by the retreat of so important an 
associate from his favourite enterprise. To soften, therefore, his 
disappointment as much as possible, the Constable offered to the 
Archbishop, that, in the event of his obtaining license to remain 
in Britain, his forces should be led by his nephew, Damian Lacy, 
already renowned for his early feats of chivalry, the present hope 
of his house, and, failing heirs of his own body, its future head 
and support. 

The Constable took the mostmrudent method of communicating 
this proposal to the Archbishop Baldwin, through a mutual friend, 
on whose good offices he could depend, and whose interest with 
the Prelate was regarded as great. But notwithstanding the 
splendour of the proposal, the Prelate heard it with sullen and 
obstinate silence^ and referred for answer to a personal confe- 
rence with the Constable at an appointed day, when concerns of 
the church would call the Archbishop to the city of Gloucester. 
The report of the mediator was such as induced the Constable to 
expect a severe struggle with the proud and powerful churchman; 
but, himself proud and powerful, and backed by the favour of his 
sovereign, he did not expect to be foiled in the contest. 

The necessity that this point should be previously adjusted, as 
well as the recent loss of Eveline's father, gave an air of privacy 



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■Tale i. the betrothisd. 141 

fo De Lacy's courtship, and prevented Its being signalized by 
tournaments and feats of military skill, in which he would have 
been otherwise desirous to display his address in the eyes of his 
mistress. The rules of the convent prevented his giving enter- 
tainments of dancing, music, or other more pacific revels ; and 
although the G)nstable displayed his affection by the most 
splendid gifts to his future bride and her attendants, the whole 
affair, in 3ie opinion of the experienced Dame Gillian, proceeded 
more with the solemnity of a funeral, than^the light pace of an 
approaching bridal. 

The bride herself felt something of this, and thought occasion* 
ally it might have been lightened by the visits of young Damian, 
in whose age, so nearly corresponding to her own, she might have 
expected some relief from the formal courtship of his graver 
uncle. But he came not ; and from what the Constable said con- 
cerning him, she was led to imagine that the relations had, for a 
time at least, exchanged occupations and character. The elder 
De Lacy continued, indeed, in nominal observance of his vow, to 
dwell in a pavilion by the gates of Gloucester ; but he seldom 
donned his armour, substituted costly damask and silk for his 
war-worn shamois doublet, and affected at his advanced time of 
life more gaiety of attire than his contemporaries remembered as 
distinguishing his early youth. His nephew, on the contrary, 
resided almost constantly on the marches of Wales, occupied in 
settling by prudence, or subduing by main force, the various dis- 
turbances by which these provinces were continually agitated ; 
and Eveline learned with surprise, that it was with difficulty his 
uncle had prevailed on him to be present at the ceremony of their 
being betrothed to each other, or, as the Normans entitled the 
ceremony, their Jiatif allies. This engagement, which preceded 
the actual marriage for a space more or less, according to circum- 
fi^mces, was usually celebrated with a solemnity corresponding 
to the rank of the contracting pai*ties.^ 

The Constable added, with expressions of regret, that Damian 
gave himself too little rest, considering his early youth, slept too 
little, and indulged in too restless a disposition — that his health 
was suffering — and that a learned Jewish leech, whose opinion 
had been taken, had given his advice that the warmth of a more 
genial climate was necessary to restore his constitution to its 
general and natural vigour. 

Eveline heard this with much regret, for she remembered 
Damian as the angel of good tidings, who first brought her news 
of deliverance from the forces of the Welsh ; and the occasions 
on which they had met, though mournful, brought a sort of 
pleasure in recollection, so gentle had been the youth's deport- 
ment, and so consoling his expressions of sympathy. She wished 
she could see him, that she might herself judge of the nature of 
his illness ; for, like other damsels of that age, she was not 
entirely ignorant of the 9Xt of healing, and had been taught b/ 



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142 TALES OP THE CRUSADERS. 

Father Aldrovand, himself no mean ph^Mcian, how to extntct 
healing essences from plants and herbs gathered under planetary 
hours. She thought it possible that her talents in this art, slight 
as they were, might perhaps be oi service to one already her 
friend and liberator^ and soon about to become her very near 
relation. 

It was therefore with a sensation of pleasure mmgled with some 
confusion, (at the idea, doubtless, of assuming the part of medical 
aivisnr to so young a patient,) that one evening, while the con- 
vent was assembled about some business of their chapter, she 
beard Gillian annoimee that the kinsman of the Lord Constable 
deored to speak with her. She snatched up the veil, which she 
wore in compliance with the customs of tlie bouse, and hasuly 
descended to the parlour, commanding tlie attendance of GilliaUt 
who, nevertheless, did not think proper to obey the signal. 

When she entered the apartment, a man whom she had never 
seen before advanced, kneeling on one knee, and taking up the 
hem of her veil, saluted it with an air of the most profound re- 
spect. She stepped back, surprised and alarmed, although there 
was nothing in the appearaaee of the stranger to justify her 
apprehension. He seemed to be about thirty years of age, tail 
of stature, and bearing a noble tliough wasted form, and a couA" 
tenanoe on whi<di disease, or perhaps youthful indulgence, luul 
anticipated the traces of age. His demeanour seemed courteous 
and respectful, evea in a degree which approached to excess. 
He observed Eveline's siurprise, and said, in a tone of pride, 
mingled with emotion, *^ I fear that 1 have been mistaken, and 
that my visit is regarded as an unwelcome iotrusion." 

** Anse, sir," answered Eveline, ** and let me know your name 
and business. I was summoned to a kinsman of the Constable 
of Chester." 

'< And you expected the stripling Damian," answered the 
stranger. '< But the match with which England rings will connect 
you with others of the house besides that young person ; and 
amongst these, with the luckless Randal de Lacy. Perhaps," con- 
tinued he, ** the fair Eveline BeL*enger may not even have heard 
bk name breathed by his more fodrtuuate kinsman — more fortunate 
in every respect, but mogt fortunate in his present prospects." 

This compliment w|ls acoompauied by a deep reverence, and 
Eveline stood much embarrassed how to reply to his civiUties ; 
for although she row remembered to have heard this Randal 
slightly mentioned by the Constable when speaking of his family, 
it was in terms which implied that there was no good under- 
standing betwixt them. She therefore only returned his courtesy 
by general thanks for the honour of his visit, trusting he would 
then retire ; bujt such was not his purpose. 

** I comprehend," he said, ^ from the coldness with which the 
Lady Eveiiue Bereiiger receives me, that what she has heard of mm 
from my kinsman (if indeed he thought me worthy of being meu- 



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TALB I. THE BETBOTHED. 143 

tinned to her ait all) has been^ to say the least, wifSa^ounUe. 
And yet my imcae onoe stood as high in fields and oourtsy as thai 
of the GonstaUe ; Bor is it aught more disgraceful than what is 
indeed often esteemed the worst of disgraces — poverty, which 
jHreerents my still aspiring to places of honour ana fame. If my 
yeotfafnl follies have been numerous, I have paid for them by the 
Ions of my fortune, and the dep^dation of my condition ; and 
therein, my happy kinsman might, if he pleased, do me some aid 
— I mean not with his purse or estate ; for, poor as I am, I 
wouM not lire on ahns extorted from the reluctant hand of an 
estranged friend ; but his countenance would put him to no coet^ 
and, in so far, I might expect some favour." 

" In that my hord Constable," said Eveline, ^ must jud^ for 
himself. I have — as yet, at least — no right to interfere m his 
family affairs ; and if I should ever have such right, it will well 
become me to be cautious how I use it." 

'^ It is prudently answered," replied Randal ; ** but what I ask 
of you is merely, that you, in your gentleness, would please to 
convey to my cousin a suit, which I find it hard to bring my 
ruder tongue to utter with sufficient submission. The usurers^ 
whose claims have eaten like a canker into my means, now 
menace me with a dungeon-^a threat which they dared not mutter, 
hx leas attempt to execute, were it not that they see me an out- 
cast, unprotected by the natural head of my family, and regard 
me rather as they would some unfriended vagrant, thaoL. as a 
desoendant of the powerful House of lAcy." 

^ It is a sad necessity," replied Eveline ; ^ but I see not how 
I can help yov in sach extremity." 

** Easily," replied Randal de Lacy. " The day of your betrothal 
is fixed, M I hear reported ; and it is your right to select what 
witnesses you please to the solemnity, which may the saints bless t 
To every one but myself, presence or absence upon tliat occasion 
is a matter of mere ceremony — to me it is almost life or death. 
So am I situated, that the marked instance of slight or contempt, 
implied by my exclusion from this meeting of our family, will be 
bekl for the signal of my final expulsion from the House of tlie 
De Lacys, and for a thousand 4>lo<>dhounds to assail me without 
mercy or forbearance, whom, cowards as they are, even the 
slightest show of countenance from my powerful kinsman would 
Compel to stand at bay. But why sliould I occupy your time in 
talking thus t — Faurewell, madam — be happy — and do not think 
of me the more harshly, that for a few minutes I have broken 
the tenor of your happy thoughts, by forcing my misfortunes on 
your notice." 

<< Stay, sir," said Eveline, affected by the tone and manner of the 
noble suppliant ; << you shall not have it to say tliat you hav» 
told your distress to Eveline Berenger, without receiving such aid 
as is in her power to give. 1 will mention your request to the 
Coaslable of Chester." 



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144 TALES OF THE CBU8ABEBS. 

.^ Ycm roust do more, if you really mean to assist me,** said 
Randal de Lacy, ** you must make that request your own. You 
do not know,** said he, continuing to bend on her a fixed and 
expressive look, ^ how hard it is to change the fixed purpose of a 
De Lacy — a twelvemonth hence you will probably be better 
acquainted with the firm texture of our resolutions. But, at 
present, what can withstand your wish should you deign to ex- 
prera it !" 

" Your suit, sur, shall not be lost for want of my advancing it 
with my good word and good wishes," replied Eveline ; ^ but 
you must be well aware that its success or failure must rest with 
the Constable himself." 

Randal de Lacy took his leave with the same air of deep 
reverence which had marked his entrance ; only that, as he then 
saluted the skirt of Eveline's robe, he now rendered tlie same 
homage by touching her hand with his lip. She saw him depart 
with a mixture of emotions, in which compassion was predomi- 
nant ; although in his complaints of the Constable's unkindness 
to him there was something offensive, and his avowal of follies and 
excess seemed utt8i*ed rather in the spirit of wounded pride, than 
in that of contrition. 

When Eveline next saw the Constable, she told him of the 
visit of Randal, and of his request ; and strictly observing his 
countenance while she spoke, she saw, that at the first mention of 
his kinsman's name, a gleam of anger shot along his features. 
He soon subdued it, however, and, fixing his eyes on the ground, 
listened to Eveline's detailed account of the visit, and her request 
** that Randal might be one of the invited witnesses to their /S<»»- 

The Constable paused for a moment, as if he were considering 
how to elude the solicitation. At length he replied, " You do not 
know for whom you ask this, or you would perhaps have forborne 
your request ; neither are you apprized of its full import, though 
my crafty cousin well knows, that when I do him this grace which 
he asks, I bind myself, as it were, in the eye of the world once 
more — and it will be for the third time — to interfere in his affairs, 
and place them on such a footing as may afford him the means of 
re-establishing his fallen consequence, and repairing his nume- 
rous errors." 

" And wherefore not, my lord !" said the generous Eveline. 
** If he has been ruined only through follies, he is now of an 
age when these are no longer tempting snares ; and if his heart 
and hand be good, he may yet be an honour to the House of De 
Lacy." 

The Constable shook his head. <<He hath indeed," he said, 
^ a heart and hand fit for service, God knoweth, whether in ffood 
or evil. But never sliall it be said that you, my fair Eveline, 
made request of Hugh de Lacy, which he was not to his uttermost 
williitg to comply with. Randal shall attend at our fian^aUia t 



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TALB I. THB BETROTHED. 145 

l^ere i» indeed the more cause for his attendance, as I somewhai 
fear we may ]»ck that of our valued nephew Damian, whose 
malady rather increases than declines, and, as I hear, with strange 
^mptoms oi unwonted disturbance of mind and starts of temper, 
to which tlie ycmth hath zkot hitherto been subject.*' 



CHAPTER XVII. 

Hiog out the merry bell, the bride approaches, 
Hie Uiuh upon her ebeek has shamecl the momlBg, 
For that is aawning palely. Grant, good saints^ 
These clouds betoken nought of evil omen I 

Old Flap. 

The day of the Jianpailht, or eqpousals, was now approaching ; 
and it seems that neidier the profession of the Abb^, nor her 
practice at least, were so rigid as to prevent her selecting tlte 
great parlour of the oonyent for that holy rite, although necessarily 
introdiicii^ many male guests within those vestal precincts, and 
notwithstanding that the rite itself was the preliminary to a 
state which the inmates of the cloister had renounced for ever. 
The Abbess's Norman pride of birth, and the real interest which 
she took in her niece's advancement, overcame all scruples ; and 
the venerable mother might be seen in unwonted bustle, now 
giving orders to the garden^^ for decking the apartment with 
flowers — now to her cellaress, her precentrix, and the lay-sisters 
of the kitchen, for (Mr^aring a splendid banquet, mingling her 
commands on these worldly subjects with an occasional ejacula- 
tion on their vanity and worthlessness, and every now and then 
converting the busy and anxious looks wfiich she threw upon her 
preparations into a solemn turning upward of eyes and folding of 
hands, as one who sighed over the mere earthly pomp which she 
took sodi trouble in superintending. At anc^ther time the good 
lady might have been seen 'in close consultation with Father 
Aldrovaaid, upon the ceremonial, civil and religious, which was to 
accompany a solemnity of such consequence to her family. 

Meanwhile the reins of discipline, although relaxed for a season, 
were not entirely thrown loose. The outer court of the convent 
was indeed for the time opened for liie reception of the male sex ; 
bat the younger sisters and novices of the house being carefully 
seduded in the more inner apartments of the extensive building, 
under the immediate eye of a grim old nun, or, as the conventual 
rule designed her, an ancient, sad, and virtuous person, termed 
MistTesB of the Novices, were not permitted to pollute their eyes 
by looking on waviug plumes and rustling mantles. A few sistei-s, 
mdeed, of the Abba's own standing, were left at liberty, being 
such goods as it was thought could not, in shopman's phrase, take 
harm from the air, and which are therefore left lying on the 

VOL. XIX. K 



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146 TALKS OF THE CRUfiTADBRIf. 

counter. These antiquated dames went mumping about with 
much affected indifference, and a great deal of real curiosity, 
endeavouring indirectly to get information concerning names, 
anid dresses, and decorations, without daring to shew such interest 
in these vanities aa actual questions on the subject might have 
implied. 

A stout band of the Constable's spearmen guarded the gate of 
the nunnery, admitting within th6 hallowed precinct the few only 
who were to loe present at the solemnity, with their principal 
attendants, and while the former were ushered with all due cere- 
mony into the apartments dressed out for the occasion, the 
attendants, although detained in the outer court, were liberally 
supplied with refreshments of the most substantial kind ; and had 
the amusement, so dear to the menial classes, of examining and 
criticising their masters and mistresses, as they passed into the 
interior apartments prepared for their reception. 

Amongst the domestics who were thus employed were old 
Raoul the huntsman and his jolly dame — he gay and glorious, 
in a new cassock of green velvet, she gracious and comely, in a 
kirtle of yellow silk, fringed with minivair, and that at no mean 
cost, were equally busied in beholding the gay spectacle. The 
most inveterate wars have their occasional terms of truce ; the 
most bitter and boisterous weather its hours of warmth and of 
calmness ; and so was it with the matrimonial horizon of this 
amiable pair, which, usually cloudy, had now for brief space 
cleared up. The splendour of their new apparel, the mirth of the 
spectacle around them, with the aid, perhaps, of a bowl of musca- 
dine quaffed by Raoul, and a cup of hippocras sipped by his 
wife, had rendered them rather more agreeable in each other's 
eyes than was their wont ; good cheer being in such cases, as oil 
is to a rusty lock, the means of making those valves move smoothly 
and glibly, which otherwise work not together at all, or by shrieks 
and groans express their reluctance to move in union. The pair 
had stuck themselves into a kind of niche, three or four steps 
from the ground, which contained a small stone bench, whence 
their curious eyes could scrutinize with advantage every guest 
who entered the court. 

Thus placed, and in their present state of temporary concord, 
Kaoul with his frosty visage formed no unapt representative of 
January, the bitter father of the year ; and though Gillian was 
past the delicate bloom of youthful May, yet the melting fire of a 
full black eye, and the genial glow of a ripe and crimson cheek, 
made her a Uvely type of the fruitful and jovial August, Dame 
Gillian used to make it her boast, that she could please every 
body with her gossip, when she chose it, from Raymond Beren- 
.ger down to Robin the horse-boy ; and like a good housewife, 
-who, to keep her hand in use, will sometimes even condescend 
•to dress a dish for her husband's sole eating, she now thought 
•proper to practise her powers of pleasing on old Raoul, Dairly 



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TALE I, THE BETROTHED. }47 

eonqnering, in her Bucoessful sallies of mirth and satire, not 
ouly his cynical temperament towards all human kind, but his 
peculiar and special disposition to be testy with his spouse. 
Her jokes, such as they were, and the coquetry with which 
.they were enforced, had such an effect on this Timon of the 
woods, that he curled up his cynical nose, displayed his few 
Btragghng teeth like a cur about to bite, broke out into a barking 
laugh, which was more like the cry of one of his own hounds — 
stopped short in the explosion, as if he had suddenly recollected 
that it was out of character ; yet, ere he resumed his acrimonious 
gravity, shot such a glance at Gillian as made his nut-cracker 
laws, pinched eyes, and convolved nose, bear no small resem- 
olance to one of those fantastic faces which decorate the upper end 
of old bass viols. 

^ Is not this better than layine yoor dog-leash on your loving 
wife, as if she were a brach of the kennel T' said August to 
January. 

^ In troth is it," answered Januai^, ii^ a frost-bitten tone ; — 
^ and so it is also better than doing the brach-tricks which bring 
the leash into exercise." 

*^ Humph !" said Gillian, in the tone of one who thought her 
husband's proposition might bear being disputed ; but instantly 
clianging the note to that of tender oomphunt, ^ Ah 1 Raonl," she 
said, ^ do you not remember how you once beat me because our 
late lord — Our Lady assoilzie him 1 — took my crimson breast- 
knot for a peony rose 1" 

** Ay, ay," said the huntsman ; ^ I remember our old master 
would make such mistakes — Our Lady assoilzie him 1 as you say 
' — The best hound will hunt counter." 

** And how could you think, dearest Baoul, to let the wife of 
thy bosom go so long without a new kirUe )" said his helpmate. 

^ Why, thou hast got one from our young lady that misht serve 
a count^B," said Raoul, his concord jarred by her touching this 
chord — '^ how many kirtles wouldst thou have !" 

*< Only two, kind Raoul ; just that folk may not count their 
.children's age by the date of Dame Gillian's last new gown," 

*^ Well, well — it is hard that a man cannot be in good-humour 
once and away without being made to pay for it. But thou shalt 
have a new kirtle at Michaelmas, when I sell the bucks' hides fcAr 
the seasdn. The very antlers should bring a good penny this year." 

" Ay, ay," said Gillian ; " I ever tell thee, husband, the horns 
would be worth the hide in a fair market" 

Raoul turned briskly round as if a wasp had stung him, and 
there is no guessing what his reply might have been to this seem- 
ingly innocent observation, had not a gallant horseman at that 
instant entered the court, and, dismounting like the others, gave 
his horse to the charge of a squire, or equerry, whose attire blazed 
with embroidery. 
. *< By Siuut Hubert, a proper horseman, and a dtt^rier for an 



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148 TALES OF THE CRUSADERS^ 

earl/' said Raoul ; ^ and my Lord Constable's liTeries withal ^t* 
yet I know not the gallant." 

<<But I do," said Gillian ; <<it is Kandal de Lacy, the Con- 
stable's kinsman, and as good a man as erer came of the name !** 

" Oh ! by Saint Hubert, I have heard of him — men say he ift 
a reyeller, and a jangler, and a waster of his goods." 

^ Men lie now and then," said Gillian dryly. 

"And women also," replied Jlaoul ; — "why, methinks he 
winked on tliee just now." 

" That right eye of thine saw nerer true since our good lord 
— Saint Mary rest him I — flung a cup of wine in thy face, for 
pressing over boldly into his withdrawing-room." 

" I marvel," said Raoul, as if he heard her not, " that yonder 
ruffler comes hither. I have heard that he is suspected to have 
attempted the Constable's life^ and that they have not spoken 
together for five years." 

" He comes on m^ voung lady's invitation, and that I know full 
well," said Dame Giltnm ; " and he is less like to do the Constable 
wrong than to have wrong at his hand, poor gentleman, as indeed 
he has had enough of that already." 

" And who told thee so !" said Raonl, bitterly. 

" No matter, it was one who Imew all about it very well," said 
tiie dame, who began to fear that, in displaying her triumph of 
superior information, she had been ratiier over-communicative. 

" It must have been tiie devil, or Randal himself," said Raoul, 
" for no other mouth is large enough for such a lie. — But hark 
ye, Dame Gillian, who is he that presses forward next, like a man 
that scarce sees how he goes ?" 

" Even your angel of grace, my young Sqmre Dannan," said 
Dame Gillian. ' 

•* Jt is impossible !" answered Raoul — **call me blmd if thoti 
wHt ; — but! have never seen man so changed in a few weeks — 
and his attire is flung on him so wildly as if he wore a hcnve-cloth 
round him instead of a mantle — What can ail the youth ! — he 
has made a dead pause at the door, as if he saw something on the 
tlu'eahold that debarred his entrance. — Saint Hubert, but he locim 
as if he were elf-stricken !" 

" You ever thought him such a treasure !" said Gillian ; * and 
now look at him as he stands by the side of a real gentleman, how 
he stares and trembles as if he were distraught." 

** I will speak to him," said Raoul, forgetting his lameness, and 
springing from his elevated station — "I will speak to him ; and 
if he be unwell, I have my lancets and fleams to bleed man as 
well as brute." 

" And a fit physician for such a patient," muttered Gilliaa, — 
** a do(?-leech for a dreamy madman, that' neither knows his own 
disease nor the way to cure it." 

Meanwhile the old huntsman made his way towards the en- 
trance, before which Damian remained standing, in apparent 



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TALB I. THE BETROTHID. 149 

imeertainty whether he should enter or not, regardkfls of the 
rt-nwd around, and at the same time attracting their attention by 
tiie singularity of his deportment. 

Raoul had a private regard for Damian ; for whien, perhi^Mi, 
it was a chief reason, that of late his wife had been in me habit 
of speaking of him in a tone more disrespectful than she usually 
apphed to handsome young men. Besides, he understood the 
youih was a second Sir Tnstrem in silvan sports by wood and 
river, and there needed no more to fetter Raoul*s soul to him with 
bands of steel. He saw with great concern his conduct attract 
general notice, mixed with some ridicule. 

** He stands,*' said the town-jester, who had crowded into the 
gay throng, *' before the gate, like Balaant^s ass in the Mystery, 
when the animal sees so much more tiian can be seen by any one 
else.'* 

A cut from Raoul's ready leash rewarded the felicity of this 
application, and sent the fool howling off to seek a more favonr- 
ab^ audience for his pleasantry. At the same time Raoul pressed 
up to Damiai^ and with an earnestness very different from his 
usual dry eaosticity of manner, begged him for Gk>d's sake not to 
make himself the general spectacle, by standing there as if the 
devil sat on the doorway, but either to enter, or, what might be 
as becoming, to retire, and make himself more fit in apparel for 
attending on a solemnity so nearly concerning his house. 

** And what ails my apparel, old man !" said Damian, turning 
sternly on the huntsman, as one who has been hastily and unci- 
villy roused from a reverie. 

** Only, with respect to your valour,** answered the huntsman, 
" men do not usually put old mantles over new doublets ; and 
roetbinks, with submission, that of yours neither accords with 
your dress, nor is fitted for this noble presence.** 

** Thou art a fool !** answered Damian, ^ and as green in wit as 
gray in years. Know yon not that in these days me young and 
old consort together — contract together — wed together! and 
should we take more care to make our apparel consistent than our 
actions I** 

** For Grod's sake, my lord,** said Raoul, ** forbear these wild 
and dangerous words I they may be heard by other ears than 
mine, and construed by worse interpreters. There may be here 
those who will pretend to track mischief from light words, as I 
would find a buck from his frayings. Your cheek is pale, my 
lord, your eye is bloodshot ; for Heaven*s sake, retire 1** 

** I will not retire,** said Damian, with yet more distenaperatnre 
of manner, '* till I have seen the Lady Eveline.** 

" For the sake of all the saints,*' ejaculated Raoul, ** not now ! 
-F- You will do my lltdy incredible injury by forcing yourself into 
her presence in this condition." 

** Do you think so !*' said Damian, the remark seeming to ope- 
rate as a sedative which enabled him to eoUect his scattered 



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150 ' TALES OP THE CRU8ADER0. 

thoughts. — ^^** Do you really think sol — I thought that tb hav*- 
look^ upon her once more — but no — you are in the right, old 
man." 

He turned from the door as if to withdraw, but ere he eould 
accomplish his purpose, he turned yet more pale than before^ 
staggered, and fell on the pavement ere Raoul could afford him 
his support, useless as that might have proved. Those who raised 
him were surprised to observe that his garments were soiled with 
blood, and that the stains upon his cloak, which had been criti- 
cised by Raoul, were of the same complexion. A grave-looking 
personage, wrapped in a sad-eoloured mantle, came forth from 
the crowd. 

" I knew how it would be," he said ; ** I made venesection this 
morning, and commanded repose and sl^p according to tlie 
aphorisms of Hippocrates ; but if young gentlemen will neglect 
the ordinance of their physician, medicine will avenge herself. 
It is impossible that my bandage or ligature, knit by these jBngers, 
should have started, but to avenge the neglect of the precepts of 
art." 

** What means this prate !" said the voice of the Constable^ 
before which all others were silent. He had been summoned 
forth just as the rite of espousal or betrothing was concluded, oa 
the confusion occasioned by Damian's situation, and now sternly 
commanded the physician te replace the bandages which had 
slipped from his nephew's arm, himself assisting in the task of 
supporting the patient, with the anxious and deeply agitated feel- 
ings of one who saw a near and justly valued relative — as yet, 
the heir of his fame and &mily — stretched before him in a eon- 
dilaon so dangerous. 

But the griefiB of the powerful and the fortunate are often - 
mingled with impatience of interrupted prosperity. ^What 
means this t" he demanded sternly of ike leech. ^ I sent you 
this morning to attend my nephew on the first tidings of his ill- 
ness, and commanded that he should make no attempt to be 
present on this day's solemnity, yet I find him in this state, and 
in this place." 

** So please your lordship," replied the leech, with a conscious 
self-importance, which even the presence of the Constable could 
not subdue — '^ Curettio est eaneniea, non eoaeta ; which signt- 
fieth, my lord, that the physician acteth his cure by rules of arl 
and science — by advice and prescription, but not by force or 
violence upon the patient, who cannot be at all benefited unless 
he be voluntarily amenable to the orders of his modicum." 

** Tell me not of your jargon," said De Lacy ; " if my nephew 
was lightheaded enough to attempt to come hither in the heat of 
a delirious distemper, you should have had sense to prevent him^ 
had it been by actual force." 

" It may be," said Bandal de Lacy, joinmg the crowd, who, 
forgetting the cause which had brought them together, were now. 



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TALE 1. THE BETROTHED. 151 

assembled about Damian, " that more powerfbl was the magnet 
which drew our kinsman hither, than aught the leech could <k> to 
withhold him." 

The Constable, still busied about his nephew, looked up as 
Randal spoke, and, when he was done, asked, widi formal cold- 
ness of manner, ''Ha, £ur kinsman, of what magnet do you 
bpeakr 

" Surely of your nephew's love and regard to your lordship,** 
answered Randal, "which, not to mention his respect for the 
lady Eveline, must have compelled him hither, if his limbs were 
able to bear him. — And here the bride comes, I think, in cha- 
rity, to thank him for his zeal.'* 

^ What unhappy case is this V* said the Lady Eveline, pressing 
forward, much disordered with the intelligence of Damian's 
danger, which had been suddenly conveyed to her. *^ Is there 
nothing in which my poor service may avail 1" 

*^ Nothing, lady," said the Constable, rising from beside his 
nephew, and taking her hand ; ** your kindness is here mistimed. 
This motley assembly, this unseeming confusion, become not your 
jMiesence.** 

** Unless it could be helpful, my lord,** said Eveline, eagerly. 
** It is your nephew who is in diuiger — my deliverer — one of 
my deliverers, I would say.*' 

" He is fitly attended by his chhrurgeon," said the Constable, 
leading back his reluctant bride to the convent, while the medi- 
cal attendant triumphantly exclaimed, 

** Well judgeth my Lord Constable, to withdraw his noble lady 
finom the host of petticoated empirics, who, like so many Amazons, 
break in upon and derange the regular course of physical prac- 
tice, with their petulant prognostics, their rash recipes, their mith- 
ridate, their febrifuges, their amulets, and their charms. Well 
^peaketh the Ethnic poet, 

* Non Midet, nisi qvm dididt, dare quod naedlcomm ett { 
Promittont medici — tractant fobiiUa &brL' ** 

As he repeated these lines with much emphasis, ihe dootoi^ 
permitted his patient's arm to drop from his hand, that he might 
aid the cadence with a flourish of his own. '' There," said he to 
the spectators, '' is what none of you understand — no, by Saint 
Luke, nor the Constable himself." 

'* But he knows how to whip in a hound that babbles when he 
should be busy," said Raoul; and, silenced by this hint, the 
chirurgeon betook himself to his proper duty, of superintending 
thi" removal of young Damian to an apartment in the neighbour- 
ing street, where the symptoms of his disorder seemed rather to 
increase than diminish, and speedily required all the skill and 
attention which the leech could bestow. 

The subscription of the contract of marriage had, as already 
ndtieed, been just concluded, when the company aaeembled on the ' 



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152 TALES OF THE GBUSADBRd. 

occasion were interrupted by the news of Dainian's lUneflB. Wlwm 
the Constable led his bride from the ooart-yard into the apart- 
ment where the company was assembled, tbere was discomposore 
and uneasiness on the countenance of both ; and it was not a 
little increased by the bride pullinfl^ her hand hastily from the 
hold of the bridegroom, on observing that the latter was stained 
with recent blood, and had in truth left the same stamp upon her 
own. With a faint exclamation she shewed the marks to Rose, 
saying at the same time, ^ What bodes this! — Is this the re- 
venge of the Bloody-finger already commencing !" 

*' It bodes nothing, my dearest lady," said Rose — ^ it is our 
fears that are prophets, not those trifies which we take for aug- 
ury. For Qod*s sake, speak to my lord ! He is surprised at 
your agitation." 

'* Let him ask me the cause himself," said Eveline ; ^ fitter 
it should be told at his bidding, than be offered by me unasked." 

Tiie Constable, while his bride stood thus conversing with her 
maiden^ had also observed, that in his anxiety to assist his 
nepliew, he had transferred part of his blood from his own bands 
to Eveline's dress. He came forward to apologize f6r what at 
such a moment seemed alMioet ominous. ** Fair lady," said he, 
** the blood of a true De Lacy can never bode aught but peace 
and happiness to you." 

Eveline seemed as if she would have answered, but could not 
immediately find words. The faithful Rose, at the risk of in- 
cun'ing the censure of being over forward, hastened to reply to 
the compliment. ** Every damsel is bound* to b^eve what you 
say, my noble lord," was her answer, ** knowing how readily 
ttiat blood hath ever flowed fw protecting the distressed, and so 
lately for our own relief." 

" It is well spoken, little one," answered the Constable ; ^ and 
the Lady Eveline is happy in a maiden who so well knoijira how 
to speak when it is her own pleasure to be silent. — Come, lady," 
he added, ^ let us hope this mishap of my kinsman is but like a 
sacrifice to fortune, which permits not the bright^t hour to pass 
without some intervening shadow. Damian, I tnist, will qpe^dily 
recover ; and be we mindful that the blood-drops which alarm 
you have been drawn by a friendly steel, and are symptoms 
rather of recovery than of illness. — Come, dearest lady, your 
silence discourages our friends, and wakes in them doubts 
whether we be sincere in the welcome due to them. Let me be 
your sewer," he said ; and, taking a silver ewer and napkin 
from the standing cupboard, which was loaded with plate, he 
presented them on his knee to his bride. 

Exerting herself to shake off the alarm into which she had 
been thrown by some supposed coincidence of the present acci- 
dent with the apparition at Baldriogham, Eveline, entering into 
her betrothed husband's humour, was about to raise him from 
tl^ groimd, when she was interrupted by the arrival ol a bas^ 



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TALE I. THE BETBOTHED. 153 

memeoger, who, ooming into the room without oeremony, in- 
formed the Constable that his nephew was so extremely ilj, that 
if he hoped to see him alive, it would be neoeisary he tbould 
come to his lodgings instantly. 

The Constable started up, made a brief adieu to Eveline and 
to the guests,, who, dismayed at this new and disastrous inteUi* 
gence, were preparing to disperse themselves, when, as he 
advanced towards the door, he was met by a Paritor, or Sum- 
moner of the Ecclesiastical Court, whose official drees had pro- 
cured him unobstructed entrance into the precincts of the 
abbey. 

** beus Tobitcumf** said the paritor ; ** I would know which of 
this fair company is the Constable of Chester V* 

^ I am he,*' answered the elder De Lacy ; " but if thy businees 
be not the^more hasty, I cannot now speak with thee — I am 
bound on matters of life and death.'* 

" I take all Christian people to witness that J have discharged 
my duty,'* said the paritor, putting into the hand of the Constable 
a slip of parchment 

^ How is this, fellow !" said the Constable, in great indigna- 
tion — ** for whom or what does vour master the Archbishop take 
me, that he deals with me in this uncourteous fashion, citing me 
to compear before him more like a delinquent than a friend or a 
nobleman V* 

** My gracious lord," answered the paritor, haughtily, ** is 
accountable to no one but our Holy Father the Pope, for the 
exercise of the power which is intrusted to him by the canons of 
the Church. Your lordship's answer to my citation !*' 

^ Is the Archbishop present in this city !*' said the Constable, 
after a moment's reflection — ** I knew not of his purpose to 
travel hither, still less of his purpose to exercise authority within 
these bounds." 

" My gracious lord the Archbishop," said the paritor, " is but 
now arrived in this city, of which he is metropolitan ; and, be- 
sides, by his apostolical commission, a legate a latere hath 
plenary jurisdiction throughout all England, a& those may find 
(whatsoever be their degree) who may dare to disobey his 
summons." 

*' Hark thee, fellow," said the Constable, regarding the paritor 
with a grim and angr^ coimtenance, *' were it not for certain 
respects, which I promise thee thy tawny hood hath little to do 
with, thou wert better have swallowed thy citation, seal and all, 
than delivered it to me with the addition of such saucy terms. 
60 hence, and tell your master I will see him within &ie space 
of an hour, during which time I am delayed by the necessi^ of 
attending a sick relation." 

The paritor left the apartment with more humility in his man- 
ner than when he had entered, and left the assembled guests to 
kx)k upon each other in silence and dismay. 



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154 TALES OP THE CBdSADERS. 

The reader cannot h,\\ to remember how severely the yoke of 
the Roman sapremacy pressed both on tlie clergy and laity of 
England daring the reign of Henry II. Even the attempt of 
that wise and courageous monarch to make a stand for the inde- 
pendence of his throne in the memorable case of Thomas a 
Becket, had such an unhappy issue, that, like a suppressed re- 
bellion, it wajB found to add new strength to the domination of 
the Church. Since the submission of the king in that ill-fated 
struggle, the voice of Rome had double potency whenever it was 
heard, and the boldest peers of England held it more wise to sub- 
mit to her imperious dictates, than to provoke a spiritual censure 
which had so many secular consequences. Hence the slight and 
scornful manner in which the Constable was treated by the pre- 
late Baldwin struck a chill of astonishment into the assembly of 
friends whom he had collected to witness his espousals ; and as 
he glanced his haughty eye around, he saw that many who would 
have stood by him through life and death in any otiier quarrel, 
had it even been with his sovereign, were turning pale at the 
very thought of a collision with the Church. Embarrassed, and 
at uie same time incensed at their timidity, the Constable hasted 
to dismiss them, with the general assurance that all would be 
well — that his nephew's indisposition was a trifling complaint, 
exaggerated by a conceited physician, and by his own want of 
care — and that the message of the Archbishop, so unceremo- 
niously delivered, was but the consequence of their mutual and 
friendly familiarity, which induced them sometimes, for the jest's 
sake, to reverse or neglect the ordinary forms of intercourse. — 
*' If I wanted to speak with the prelate Baldwin on express business 
and in haste, such is the humility and indifference to form of that 
worthy pillar of the church, that I should not fear offence," said 
the Constable, '^ did I send the meanest horseboy in my troop to 
ask an audience of him." 

So he spoke — but there was something in his countenance 
which contradicted his words ; and his friends and relations 
retired from the splendid and joyful ceremony of his espousab as 
from a funeral feast, with anxious thoughts and with downcast 
eyes. 

Randal ^sas the only person, who, having attentively watched 
the whole progress of the affair during the evening, ventured to 
approach his cousin as he left the house, and asked him, '* in the 
name of their reunited friendship, whether he had nothine to 
command him !" assuring him, with a look more expressive man 
It in words, that he would not find him cold in his service. 

" I have nought which can exercise your zeal, fair cousin," re- 
plied the Constable, with the air of one who partly questioned the 
F}M'aker's sincerity ; and the parting reverence with which he 
accompanied his words, left Randal no pretext for continuing his 
attendance, as he seemed to have designed. 



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TALB I. THE fi&TROTHEl>« 156 



CHAPTER XVIII 

Oh, were I seated high as my amhition, 

I *d place this nalced foot on necks of monarchs I 

' Mysterious Mother, 

Thb most anxious and unhappy moment of Hugo de Laey's 
life, was unquestionably that in which, by espousing Eveline with 
all dvil and religious solemnity, he seemed to approach to what 
for some time he had considered as the prime object of his 
wishes. He was assured of the early possession of a beautiful 
and amiable wife, endowed with such advantage of worldly 
goods, as gratified his ambition as well as his aflfections — Yet, 
even in this fortunate moment, the horizon darkened around him, 
in a manner which presaged nought but storm and calamity. 
At his nephew's lodging he learned that the pulse of the patient 
had risen, and his delirium had augmented, and all around him 
spoke very doubtfuUy of his chance of recovery, or surviving a 
crisis which seemed speedily approaching. The Constable stole 
towards the door of the apartment which his feelings permitted 
him not to enter, and listened to the raving which the fever gave 
rise to. Nothing can be more melancholy than to hear the mind 
at work concerning its ordinary occupations, when the body is 
stretched in pain and danger upon the couch of severe sickness ; 
the contrast b^wixt the ordinary state of health, its joys or its 
labours, renders doubly affecting the actual helplessness of the 
patient before whom these visions are rising, and we feel a cor- 
responding degree of compassion for the sufferer whose thoughts 
are wandering so far from his real condition. 

The Constable felt this acutely, as he heard his nephew shout 
the war-cry of the family repeatedly, appearing, by the words of 
command and direction, which he uttered from time to time, to 
be actively engaged in leading his men-at-arms against the Wel^. 
At another time he muttered various terms of the manege, of 
falconry, and of the chase — he mentioned his uncle's name re- 
peatedly on these occasions, as if the idea of his kinsman had 
been connected alike with his martial encounters, and with his 
sports by wood and river. Other sounds there were, which he 
muttered so low as to be altogether undistinguishable. 

With a heart even still more softened towards his kinsman's 
sufferings from hearmg the points on which his mind wandered, 
the Constable twice applied his hand to the latch of the door, in 
order to enter the bedroom, and twice forebore, his eyes running 
faster with tears than he chose should be witnessed by the atten- 
dants. At length, relinquishing his purpose, hb hastily left the 
house, mounted his horse, and, followed only by four of his per- 
sonal attendants, rode towards the palace of the Bishop, whei*. 



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156 TALBa OP THB CBUSADEM. 

as he learned from public rumour, the Arch-prelate Baldwin had 
taken up his temporary residence. 

The train of riders and of led horses, of sumpter-mules, and of 
menials and attendants, both lay and ecclesiastical, which thronged 
around the gate of the Episcopal mansion, together with the gap- 
ing crowd of inhabitants who had gathered around, some to gaze 
upon the splendid show, some to have the chance of receiTing the 
benediction of the Holy Prelate, was so great as to impede the 
Constable's approach to the palaoe-door ; and when this obstacle 
was surmounted, he found another in the obstinacy of the Arch- 
bishop's attendants, who permitted him not, though announced 
^y name and title, to cross the threshold of the mansion, until 
they should receive the express command of their master to thai 
effeot. 

The Constable felt the full effect of this slighting reception, 
lie had dismounted from his horse in full confidence of being 
instantly admitted into the palace at least, if not into tlie Pre- 
late's presence ; and as he now stood am foot among the squires, 
grooms, and horseboys of the spiritual lord, he was so much dis- 
gusted, that his first impulse was to remount his horse, and return 
to his pavilion, pitched for the time before the city walls, leaving 
it to the Bishop to seek him there, if he really desired an inter- 
view. But the necessity of conciliation almost immediately 
ruKhed on his mind, and subdued the first haughty impulse of his 
«>ffended pride. ** If our wise King," he said to himself, " hath 
held the stirrup of one Prelate of Canterbury when living, and 
submitted to the most degrading observances before his shrine 
when dead, surely I need not be more scrupulous towards his 
priestly successor in the same overgrown authority." Another 
thought, which he dared hardly to acknowledge, recommended 
the same humble and submissive course. He could not but feel 
that, in endeavouring to evade his vows as a crusader, he was 
incurring some just censure from the Church ; and he was not 
unwilling to hope, that his present cold and scornful reception 
on Baldwin's part, might be meant as a part of the penanee 
which his conscience informed iiim his conduct was about to 
receive. 

After a short interval, De Lacy was at length invited to enter 
the palace of the Bishop of Gloucester, in which he was to meet 
the Primate of England ; but there was more than one brief paiiae, 
in hall and anteroom, ere he at length was admitted to Baldwin's 
presence. 

The successor of the celebrated Becket Imd neither the exten- 
sive views, nor the aspiring spirit, of that redoubted personage ; 
but, on the other hand, saint as the latter had become, it may be 
questioned, whether, in his professions for the weal of Christen- 
dom, he was half so sincere as was the present Archbishop. 
Baldwin was, in truth, a nuin well qualified to defend the powers 
which the Church had gained, though perhaps of a character tuo 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 157 

sincere and candid to be active in extending them. The adTanoe- 
meat of the Gmsade was the chief businesB of his life, his sucoese 
the principal cause of his pride ; and, if the sense of possessing 
the powers of eloquent persuasion, and skill to bend the minds of 
men to his purpose, was blended with his religious zeal, still the 
tenor of his life, and afterwards his death before Ptolemais, 
shewed tliat the liberation of the Holy Sepulchre from the infi- 
dels was the unfeigned object of all his exertions. Hugo de lavcy 
well knew this ; and the difficulty of managing such a temper 
appeared much greater to him on the eve of the interview in 
which the attempt was to be made, than he had suffered himself 
to suppose when the crisis was yet distant. 

The Prelate, a man of a handsome and stately form, with 
features rather too severe to be pleasing, received the Constable 
in all the pomp of ecclesiastical dignity. He was seated on a 
chair of oak, richly carved with Grothic ornaments, and placed 
above the rest of the floor under a niche of the same workman- 
ship. His dress was the rich episcopal robe, ornamented witli 
coe^y embroidery, and fringed around the neck and cuffs ; it 
opened from the throat and in the middle, and shewed an under 
vestment of embroidery, betwixt the folds of which, as if imper- 
fectly concealed, peeped the close shirt of haircloth which the 
Prelate constancy wore under all his pompous attire. His mitre 
was plaoed beside him on an oaken table of the same workman- 
ship with his throne, against which also rested his pastoral staff, 
representing a shephenl's crook of the simplest form, yet which 
had proved more powerful and fearful than lance or scimitar, when 
wielded by the hand of Thomas a Becket 

A chaplain in a white surplice kneeled at a little distance before 
a desk, and read forth from an illuminated volume some portion 
of a theological treatise, in which Baldwin appeared so deeply 
inteirestedy that be did not appear to notice the entrance of the 
Constable, who, highly displeased at this additional slight, stood 
on the floor of the hall, undetermined whether to interrupt the 
reader and address the Prelate at once, or to withdraw without 
saluting him at all. Ere he had formed a resolution, the chaplain 
had arrived at some convenient pause in the lecture, where the 
Archbishop stopped him with, '< §aUs est, miJUV* 

It was in vain that the proud secular Baron strove to conceal 
the embarrassment with which he approached the PreUte, whose 
attitude was plainly assumed for the purpose of impressing him 
with awe and solicitude. He tried, indeed, to exhibit a demeanour 
of such ease as might characterize their old friendship, or at least 
of such indifference as might inf^r the possession of perfect tran- 
quilfi^ ; but he failed in both, and his address expressed mor- 
tified pride, mixed with no ordinary degree of embarrassment. 
The genius of the Catholic Church was on such occasions sure to 
predominate over the haughtiest of the laity. 

<<I perceive/* said De Lacy, oolleoting bis thoughts, and 



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1 58 TALES OF THE CRUSADEB0. 

ashamed to find he had difficulty in doing so, — ^ I perceive that 
an old friendship is here dissolved. Methinks Huso de Lacy 
Plight have expected another messenger to summon him to tins 
reverend presence, and that another welcome should wait him on 
his arrival." 

The Archbishop raised himself slowly in his seat, and made a 
half inclination towards the Constable, who, by an instinctive 
desire of conciliation, returned it lower than he had intended, or 
than the scanty courtesy merited. The Prelate at the same time 
signing to his chaplain, the latter arose to withdraw, and re- 
ceiving permission in the phrase *^Do veniam,** retreated reve- 
rentially, without either turning his back or looking upwards, his 
eyes fixed on the ground, his hands still folded in his habit, and 
crossed over his bosom. 

When this mute attendant had disappeared, the Prelate's brow 
became more open, yet retained a dark shade of grave displea- 
sure, and he replied to the address of De La«y, but still without 
rising from his seat. << Tt skills not now, my lord, to say what 
the brave Constable of Chester has been to the poor priest 
Baldwin, or with what love and pride we beheld him assume the 
holy sign of salvation, and, to honour Him by whom he has him- 
self been raised to honour, vow himself to the deliverance of the 
Holy Land. If I still see that noble lord before me, in the same 
holy resolution, let me know the joyful truth, and I will lay 
aside rochet and mitre, and tend his horse like a groom, if it be 
necessary by such menial service to shew the cordial respect I 
bear to him." 

** Reverend father," answered De Lacy, with hesitation, ** I 
had hoped that the propositions which were made to you on my 
)>art by the Dean of Hereford, might have seemed more satisfac- 
tory in your eyes." Then, regaining his native confidence, he 
]in)ceeded with more assurance in speech and manner ; for the 
coM inflexible looks of the Archbishop irritated him. '< If these 
proposals can be amended, my lord, let me know in what points, 
and, if possible, your pleasure shall be done, even if it should 
prove somewhat unreasonable. I would have peace, my lord, with 
Holy Church, and am tlie last who would despise her mandates. 
This has been known by my deeds in field, and counsels in the 
state ; nor can I think my services have merited cold looks and 
cold language from the Primate of England." 

" Do you upbraid the Church with your services, vain man !" 
^aid Baldwin. ** I tell thee, Hugh de Lacy, that what Heaven 
hath wrought for the Church by Ihy hand, could, had it been the ' 
divine pleasure, have been achieved with as much ease by the 
meanest hoi*seboy in thy host. It is thou that art honoured, in 
being tiie chosen instrument by which great things have been 
wrought in Israel. — Nay, interrupt me not — I tell thee, proud 
barcm, that, in. the «ight of Heaven, thy wisdom is but as folly — 
tliy courage, which thou dost boast, but the cowardice of a viUa^se 



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TALB I. THE BETROTHED. 159 

maiden — thy strength weakness — thy spear an osiery and thy 
sword a buhrush.'' 

« All this I know, good father," said the Constable, ^ and 
have ever heard it repeated when such poor services as I may 
have rendered are ffone and past. Marry, when there was need 
for my helping hand, I was the very good lord of priest and pi*e- 
late, and one who should be honoured and prayed for with patrons 
and founders who sleep in the choir and under the high altar. 
There was no thought, I trow, of osier or of bulrush, when I 
have Iteen prayed to couch my lance or draw my weapon ; it is 
cuiy when tiiey are needless that they and their owner are un- 
dervalued. Well, my reverend father, be it so — if the Church 
can cast the Saracens from the Holy, Land by grooms and horse- 
boys, wherefore do you preach knights and nobles from the 
homes and the countries which they are bom to protect and 
defend f" 

The Archbishop looked steadily on him as he replied, << Not 
for the sake of their fleshly arm do we disturb your knights and 
barons in their prosecution of barbarous festivities, and murderous 
feuds, which you call enjoying their homes and protecting their 
domains, -r- not that Omnipotence requires their arm of flesh to 
execute the great predestined work of liberation, — but for the 
weal of their inmiortal souls." These last words he pronounced 
with great emphasis. 

The Constable paced the floor impatiently, and muttered to 
himself, " Such is the airy guerdon for which hosts on hosts have 
been drawn from Europe to drench the sands of Palestine with 
their gore — such the vain promises for which we are called upon 
to ba^r our country, our lands, and our lives I" 

** Is it Hugo de Lacy speaks thus t" said the Archbishop, 
arising from his seat, and qualifying his tone of censure with the 
appearance of shame and of regret — '^ Is it he who underprizes 
the renown of a knight — the virtue of a Christian — the advance- 
ment of his earthly honour — the more incalculable profit of his 
immortal soul!— Is it he who desires a solid and substantial 
recompense in lands or treasure, to be won by warring on his 
less powerful neighbours at home, while knightly honour and 
religious faith, his vow as a knight and his baptism as a Christian, 
call him to a more glorious ana more dangerous strife ! — Can it 
be indeed Hugo de Lacy, the mirror of the Anglo-Norman 
chivalry, whose thoughts can conceive such sentiments, whose 
words can utter them 1" 

^Flattery and fair speech, suitably mixed with taunts and 
reproaches, my lord," answered the Constable, colouring and 
biting his lip, ** may carry your point with others ; but I am of a 
temper too solid to be either wheedled or goaded into measures 
of importance. Forbear, therefore, this strain of affected amaze- 
ment ; and believe me, that whether he goes to the Crusade or 
abides at home, the character of Hugh Lacy will remain a» un- 



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160 TALES OP THE CRUSADER0. 

impeached in point of eonrage as that of (lie Archbishop BaMwin* 
in point of sanctitude.*' 

<< May it stand much higher/' said the Archbishop, ^ than the 
reputation with which you vouchsafe to compare it ! buta_Uaze 
may be extinguished as well as a spark ; and I tell the Constable 
of Chester, that the fame which has sat on hb basnet for Bo many 
years, may flit from it in one moment, never to be recalled." 

<< Who dares to say so f * said the Constable, tremblingly alivw 
to the honour for which he had encountered so many dangt»*8. 

^A friend," said the prelate, << whose stripes should be 
received as benefits. Yon think of pay. Sir (Jonstable, and of 
guerdon, as if you still stood in the market, iree to chaffer on the 
terms of your service. I tell yon, you are no longer your own 
master — you are, by the blessed badge you have voluntarily 
assumed, the soldier of God himself; nor can you fly from your 
standard without such infamy as even coistrels or grooms are 
unwilling to incur." 

** You deal all too hardly with us, my lord/' said Hugo dd 
Lacy, stopping short in his laroubled walk. *< You of the e^»iri« 
tuality make us laymen the pack-horses of your own concerns^ 
and climb to ambitious heights by the help ai our overburdened 
shoulders; but all hath its limits -*-Becket transgressed it, 
and " 

A gloomy and expressive look corresponded with the tone in 
which he spoke this broken sentence ; and the Prelate, at no loss 
to comprehend his meaning, replied, in a firm and determined 
voice, ** And he was murdered I — tiiat is what you dare to hint 
to rae — even to me, the successor of that glorified saint — as % 
motive for complying with your fickle and selfish wish to with«> 
draw your hand from the plough. You know not to whom you 
address such a threat. True, Becket, from a saint militant on 
earth, arrived, by the bloody path of martyrdom, to the dignity 
of a saint in Heaven ; and no £ess true is it, that, to attain a seat 
a thousand degrees beneath that of his blessed predecessor, tlie 
unworthy Baldwin were willing to submit, under Our Lady's 
protection, to whatever the worst of wicked men can inflict on his 
earthly frame." 

^ There needs not this show of courage, reverend father," 
said Lacy, recollecting himself, ** where there neither is, n(»r can 
be, danger. I pray you, let us debate this matter more delibe- 
rately. I have never meant to break off my purpose for ^e 
Holy Land, but only to postpone it. Methinks the offers that I 
have made are hir, and ought to obtain for me what has been 
granted to others in the like case — a slight delay in the time of 
my departure." 

" A slight delay on the part of such a leader as you, noble De 
Lacy," answered the Prelate, ** were a death-blow to our holy 
and most gallant enterprise. To meaner men we might have 
granted the privilege of manning and giving in marriage, even 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 161 

ahfaough tliey care not for the sorrows of Jacob ; but von, my 
lord, are a main prop of onr enterprise, and, being withdrawn, 
the whole fabric may fall to the ground. Who in England will 
deem himself obliged to press forward, when Hugo de Lacy falls 
back ! Think, my lord, less upon your plighted bride, and more 
cm your plighted word ; and believe not that a union can ever 
eoroe to good, which sh^es your purpose towards our blessed 
undertaking for the honour of Christendom.*' 

The Constable was embarrassed by the pertiiiacity of tlie 
Prelate, and began to ^ve way to his arguments, though most 
reluctantly, and only because the habits and opinions of the 
time left Mm no means of combating his arguments, otherwise 
than by solicitation. *^I admit," he said, ^my engagements 
for the Crusade, nor have I — I repeat it — farther desire than 
that brief interval which may be necessary to place my im- 
portant affairs in order. Meanwhile, my vassals led by my 
nephew " 

** Promise that which is within thy power," said the Prelate. 
^ Who knows whether, in resentment of thy seeking after other 
things than his most holy cause, thy nephew may not be called 
hence, even while we speak together V* 

" God forbid !" said the Baron, starting up, as if about to fly 
to his nephew's assistance ; then suddenly pausing, he turned on 
the l^relate a keen and investigating glance. '* It is not well," he 
said, *^ that your reverence should &u& trifle with the dangers 
which threaten my house. Damian is dear to me for his own 
good qualities — dear for th^ sake of my only brother. — May 
God forgive us both ! he died when we were in unkindness with 
each other. — My lord, your words import that my beloved ne- 
pliew suffers pain -and incurs danger on account of my offences !" 

The Archbishop perceived he had at length touched the chord 
to which bis refractory penitent's heart-strings must needs vibrate. 
He replied with circumspection, as well knowing with whom he 
had to deal, — ** Far be it from me to presume to interpret the 
counsels of Heaven ! but we read in Scripture, tiiat when the 
fathers eat sour grapes, the teeth of the children are set on edge. 
What so reasonable as that we should be punished for our pride 
and contumacy, by a judgment specially calculated to abate and 
bend that spirit of surquedry t* You yourself best know if this 
disease clung to thy nephew before you had meditated defection 
from the banner of the Cross." 

Hugo de Lacy hastily recollected himself, and found that it was 
indeed true, that, until he thought of his union with Eveline, there 
bad appeared no change in his nephew's health. His silence luid 
confusion did not escape the artful Prelate. He took the hand of 
the warrior as he stood before him overwhelmed in doubt, lest his 
preference of the continuance of his own house to the rescue uf 

* tielf-importanoe. or asstmiption. 
VOL. XIX- L 



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162 TALES OP THE CRUSADEB8. 

the Holy Sepuldire should hmTe been punislied by the diseue 
which, threatened his nephew's life. ^ Come," he said, ** noble 
De Lacy — the judgment provoked by a moment's presomption 
may be eyen yet averted by prayer and penitence. The dial went 
back at the prayer of the good King Hezekiah — down, down 
upon thy knees, and doubt not that, with confession, and^penanoe, 
and absolution, thou mayst yet atone for thy failing away from the 
cause of Heaven." 

Borne down by the dictates of the religion in which he had 
been educated, and by the fears lest his delay was punished by 
his nephew's indisposition and danger, the Constable sunk on his 
knees before the Prelate, whom he hfA riiortly before well-nigh 
braved, confessed, as a sin to be deeply repented of, his purpose 
of deUying his departure for Palestine, and received, with patience 
at least, if not with willing acquiescence, the penance inflicted by 
the Archbishop ; which consisted in a prohibition to proceed fur- 
ther in his proposed wedlock with the Lady Eveline, until he was 
returned from Palestine, where he was bound by his vow to abide 
for the term of three years. 

<< And now, noble De Lacy," said the Prelate, ^ once more my 
best beloved and most honoured friend — is not thy bosom lighter 
since thou hast thus nobly acquitted thee of thy debt to Heaven, 
and cleansed thy gallant spirit from those selfish and earthly stains 
which dimmed its brightness 1" 

The Constable sighed. <' My happiest thoughts at this mo- 
ment," he said, << would arise from knowledge that my nephew's 
health is amended." 

^ Be not discomforted on the score of the noble Damian, your 
hopeful and valorous kinsman," said the Archbishop, ^ for well I 
trust shortly ye shall hear of his recovery ; or that, if it shall 
please God to remove him to a better world, the passage shall be 
so easy, and his arrival in yonder haven of blisH so speedy, that 
it were better for him to have died Hmn to have lived." 

The Constable looked at him, as if to gather from his counte- 
nance more certainty of his nephew^s fate than his words seemed 
to imply ; and the Prelate, to escape being farther pressed on a 
subject on which he was perhaps conscious he had ventured too 
far, rung a silver bell which stood before him on the table, and 
commanded the chaplain who entered at the summons, that he 
should despatch a careful messenger to the lodging of Damian 
Lacy to bring particular accounts of his healtli. 

<* A stranger," answered the chaplain, ^ just come from the sick 
chamber '>f the noble Damian Lacy, waits here even now to have 
speech of my Lord Constable." 

^ Admit him instantly," said the Archbishnp — <' my mind tells 

me' he brings us joyful tidings. — Never knew 1 such humble 

' penitence,^- such willing resignation of natural affections and 

desires to the doing of Heaven's service, but it was rewarded with 

a guerdon either temporal or spiritual." 



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TALE I. THE BETBOTHBH. 163 

As he spoke, a man wngnlany dresaed entered the apartment 
His garments, of varioos colours, and showily disposed, were none 
of t^ newest or cleanest, neither were they altogether fitting for 
the presence in which he now stood. 

** How now, sirrah !*' said the PreUte ; ** when was it that 
jogglers and minstrels pressed into the c(Mnpany of such as we 
without pemussion t" 

^ So please you," ssid the man, ^ my instant business was not 
with your reyerend lordship, but with my lord the Constable, to 
whom I will hope that my good news may atone for my evil 
apfiareL" 

''Speak, mmhf does my kinsman live!" said the Constable 
esgeriy. 

^ And is like to live, my lord," answered the man — ''a favour- 
able crisis (so the leeches call it) hath taken place in his disorder, 
snd they are no longer under any apprehensions for his life." 

** Now, God be pnused, that hath granted me so much mercy !" 
said the Constable. 

** Amen, amen !" replied the Archbishop solemnly. — ** About 
what period did this blessed change take putoe )" 

" Scarcely a quarter of an hour since," said the messenger, ** a 
soft sleep feU on the sick youth, like dew upon a parched neld in 
summer — he breathed fii^ly — the bumine heat abated — and^ 
as I said, the leeches no longer fear f6T his life." 

'^ Marked you the hour, my Lord Constable !" said the Bishop, 
with exultation — ** even then you stooped to those counsels whidi 
Heaven suggested through the meanest of its servants 1 But two 
words avouching penitence — but one brief prayer — and some 
kind saint has interceded for an instant hearing, and a liberal 
granting of thy petition. Noble Hugo," be continued, grasping 
Lis hand in a species of enthusiasm, ** surely Heaven designs to 
work high things by the hand of him whose uuilts are thus readily 
forgiven — v^hose prayer is thus instantly heard. For this shall 
TV Deum Lcmdanuu be said in each church, and each convent of 
6k>uce8ter, ere the world be a day older." 

The Constable, no less joyful, though perhi^is less able to per- 
ceive an especial providence in his nephew's recovery, expressed 
his gratitude to the messenger of the good tidings, by tluowing 
him his purse. . 

'^ I tliank you, noble lord," said the man ; ** but if I stoop to 
pick up this taste of your bounty, it is only to restore it again to 
the donor." 

** How now, sir I" said the Constable, ^ methinks thy coat 
teems not so well lined as needs make thee spurn at such a 
guerdon." 

" He that designs to catch hrks, my lord," replied the messen- 
ger, <* must not close liis net upon sparrows — I have a greater 
boon to ask of your lordship, and therefore I decline your present 
grutuity." 



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164 TALES OF THE CRUSADERg. 

<* A greater boon, ha !" said the Constable, — '< I am no knight- 
errant, to bind myself by promise to grant it ere I know its im- 
port ; bat do thou come to my pavilion to-morrow, and thon wilt 
not find me unwilling to do what is reason." 

So saying, he took leaye of the Prelate, and returned home- 
ward, fufing not to visit his nephew's lodging as he passed, where 
he received the same pleasant assurances which had be^ com- 
municated by the messenger of the parti-colonred mantle. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

He WM a minstrel — in his mood 

Was wisdom mlx*d with follv ; 
A tame companion to tlie good. 
Bat wild and fieree among tlie rade« 

And jovial with the jolly. 

AnCBIBAIiD AEMSTftOlf O. 

The events of the preceding day iiad been of a natufe so in- 
teresting, and latterly so harasmng, that the Constable fblt weary 
as after a severely contested battle-field, and sleprt soundly until 
the earliest beams of dawn saluted him through the opening (^ 
the tent. It was tiien that, with a mingled feeline of pain and 
satisfiustion, he began to rei^ew the change which had taken 
place in his condition since the preceding mcuniing. He had then 
arisen an ardent bridegroom, anxious to find favour in the eyes 
of his fair bride, and scrupulous about his dress and appointments, 
as if he had been as young in years as in hopes and wishes. This 
was over, and he had now before him the painful task of leaving 
his betrothed for a term of years, even before wedlock had united 
them indissolubly, and of reflecting that she was exposed to all 
tl;ie dangers which assaal female constancy in a situation thus 
critical. When the immediate anxiety for his nephew was re- 
moved, he was tempted to think that he had been something hasty 
in listening to the arguments of the Archbishop, and in believing 
that Damian's death or recovery depended upon his own accom- 
plishing, to the letter, and without delay, his vow for the Holy 
Land. ^ How many princes and kings,'* he thought to himself, 
" have assumed the Cross, and delayed or renounc^ it, yet lived 
and died in wealth and honour, without sustaining such a visita- 
tion as that with which Baldwin threatened me ; and in what case 
or particular did such men deserve more indulgence than 1 1 Bu€ 
the die is now cast, and it mgnifies littie to inquire whether my 
obedience to the mandates of the Church has saved the life of my 
nephew, or whether I have not fallen, as laymen are wont to fall, 
whenever there is an encounter of wits betwis^t them and those of 
the spirituality. I would to Grod it may prove otherwise, since, 
gurding on my sword as Heaven's champion, 1 might the better 



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TALE I. THE BBTROTHSD. 165 

ei^ieet HeaTen's protection for her whom I must mihappily leave 
bmnd me.'' 

As these reflections passed through his mind, he heard the 
warders at the entrance of his tent challenge some one whose 
footsteps were heard approaching it. The person stopped on their 
challenge, and presently after was heard the sound of a rote, (a 
small species <^ lute,) the strings of which were managed by 
means of a small wheeL After a short prelude, a manly voice, 
of good compass, sung verses, which, translated into modem 
language, might run nearly thus : 

I. 

* « Soldier, wake— the day is pMping, 
Honour ne*er was won in deeping. 
Never when the aunbeama still 
Lay unreflected on the hill : 
*Ti8 when they are glinted back 
From axe and armour, spear and Jack, 
That they promise future story 
Many a page of deathless glory. 
Shields that are the foeman's terror, 
Ever are the morning's mirror. 

n. 

** Arm and up— the morning beam 
Hath call*d the rustic to his team. 
Hath call'd the fiEilc'ner to the lake, 
Hath call'd the huntsman to the brake ; 
The eariy student ponders o'er 
iffii dusty tomes of ancient lore. 
Soldier, wake — thy harvest, fome ; 
Thy study, conquest ; war, thy game. 
ShfeM, that would be fo«nan*s terror. 
Still should gleam the morning's mirror. 

in. 

* Poor hire 
MjMvpa 
Vainest 

Ends in some metapbysic dream : 
Yet each is up, and each has toU'd 
Since first the peep of dawn has smiled ; 
And each is eagerer in his aim 
Than he who barters life for fome. 
Up, up, and arm thee, son of terror ! 
Be thy bright shield the morning's mirror." 

When the song was fimshed, the Constable heard some talking 
without, and presently PhUip Guarine entered the pavilion to teU 
that a person, come hither as he said by the Constable's appoint- 
ment, waited permission to speak with him. 

« By my appointment t" said de Lacy ; " admit him immedi 
ately.** 

The messenger of the preceding evening entered the tent, 
holding in one hand his small cap and feather, in the other the 
rote on which he had been just playing. His attire was fantastic,, 
oonsistiug of more than one inner dress of variuus colours, all of 



nr hire reoays the rustic's pain ; 
pal^ stul the sportsman's gain : 
»t of all, the studoit's theme 



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166 TALES OF THE CRU8AT>ER9. 

the brigbtest and richest dyes, and disposed so as to contrast nith 
each ower — the upper garment was a very short Norman cloak 
of bright green. An embroidered girdle sustained, in lieu of 
offensiTe weapons, an inkhom with its appnrtenanees on the one 
aide, on the other a knife lor the purposes of the table. His hair 
was cut in imitation of the cleri(»d tonsure, which was designed 
to intimate that he had arrived to a certain rank in his profession ; 
for the Joyous Science, as the profession of minstrelsy was termed, 
had its various ranks, like the degrees in the church and in 
chivalry. The features and manners of the man seemed to be at 
variance with his pr6fession luid habit ; for, as the latter was gay 
and fantastic, the former had a cast of gravity, and almost of stern- 
ness, which,, unless when kindled by the enthusiasm of his poetical 
and musical exertions, seemed rather to indicate deep reflection, 
than the thoughtless vivacity of observation which characterized 
most of his brethren. His countenance, though not handsome^ 
had therefore something in it striking and impressive, even from 
its very contrast with the parti-coloured hues and fluttering shape 
of his vestments ; and the Constable felt something inclined to 
patronize him, as he said, *' Good-morrow, friend, and I thank 
thee for thy morning greeting ; it was well sung and well meant, 
for when we call forth any one to bethink him how time passes, 
we do him the credit of supposing that he can em|rfoy to advantage 
that flitting treasure." 

The man, who had listened in silence, seemed to pause and 
make an effort ere he repHed, ^ My intentions, at least, were 
good, when I ventured to disturb my lord thus eariy ; and I am 
glad to learn that my boldness hath not been evil received at his 
hand." 

^ True," said the Constable, ^ you had a boon to ask of me. 
Be speedy, and say thy request — my leisure is short." 

" It is for permission to follow you to the Holy Land, my lord," 
said the man. •. 

*' Thou hast asked what I can hardly grant, my friend," answered 
Be Lacy — '* Thou art a minstrel, art thou not !" 

** An unworthy graduate of the Gay Science, my lord," sud the 
musician ; ''yet let me say for myself, that I will not yield to the 
king of minstrels, Geoffrey Rudel, though the King of England 
hath given him four manors for one song. I would be willing to 
contend with him in romance, lay, or fable, were the judge to be 
King Henry himself.'* 

** You have your own good word, doubtless," said De Lacy ; 
•* nevertheless. Sir Minstrel, thou goest not with me. The Cmsade 
has been already too much encumbered by men of thy idle pro- 
fession ; and if ihou. dost add to the number, it shall not be under 
my protection. 1 am too old to be cliarmed by thy art, charm 
thou never so wisely." 

** He that is young enough to seek for and to win the love of 
beauty,'* said the minstrel, but in a submissive tone, as if fearing 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 167 

his freedom might gire offenoo, ** should not tenn himself too old 
to feel the duunis of minstrelsy/' 

The Constable smiled, not insensible to the flattery which 
aaragned to him the character of a younger gallant. ^ Thou 
art a jester/' he said, *^ I warrant me, in addition to thy other 
qualities." 

^ No,*' replied the minstrel, ^ it is a branch of our profession 
which I have for some time renounced — my fortunes hare put 
me out of tune for jesting." 

** Nay, comrade," said the Constable, '^ if thou hast been hardly ^ 
dealt with in the world, and canst comply with the rules* of a 
^unily so strictly ordered as mine, it is possible we may agree 
toge^er better &an I thoueht. What is thy name and country ! 
thy speech, methinks, sounds somewhat foreign." 

'^ I am an Armorican, my lord, from the merry shores of 
Morbihan ; and hence my tongue hath some touch of my country 
speech. My name is Renault YidaL" 

<^Such being the case, Renault," sud the Constable, '<thou 
shaH follow me, and I will give orders to the master of my house- 
hold to have thee attired something according to thy function 
but in more orderly guise than ,ihou now appearest in. Dost 
thou understand the use of a weapon !" 

^ Indifferently, my lord," said the Armorican ; at the same 
tnne taking a sword from the wall, he drew, and made a pass 
with it so close to the Constable's body as he sat on the couch, 
that he started up, crying, ** Villain, forbear !" 

^ La you 1 noble sir," replied Vidal, lowering with all submis- 
sion the point of his weapon — ^ I have alrcady given you a 
proof of sleight which has ahunned even your experience — I 
have an hundred other besides." 

*^ It may be so," said De Lacy, somewhat ashamed at having 
shewn himself moved by th6 sudden and lively action of the 
juggler ; ^ but I love not jesting with edgetools, and have too 
mudi to do with sw(Mrd and sword-blows in earnest, to toy with 
them ; so I pray you let us have no more of this, but call me my 
squire and my chamberlain, for I am about to array me and go 
to masB." 

The religions duties of the morning performed, it was the 
Constable's intention to visit the Lady Abbess, and communi- 
cate, with the necessary precautions and qualifications, the 
altered relations in which he was placed towards her niece, by 
the resolution he had been compelled to adopt, of departing for 
the Crusade before accomplishing his marriage, in the terms of 
the precontract already entered into. He was conscious that it 
would be difficult to reconcile the good lady to this change of 
measures, and he delayed some time ere he could think of the 
best mode of communicating and softening the ^unpleasant in- 
telligmee. An interval was also spent in a visit to his nephew, 
whooe state of convalescence continued to be as favourable, as if 



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168 TALES OP THE CRUSADERS. 

in tmih it had been a miraculous consequence of the Constable's 
having complied with the advice of the Archbishop. 

From the lodnng of Damian, the Constable proceeded to the 
convent of the Benedictine Abbess. But she had been already 
made acquainted with Ihe circumstances which he came to com- 
municate, by a still earlier visit from the Archbishop Baldwin 
himself. The Primate had undertaken the office of mediator 
on this occasion, conscious that his success of the evening before 
must have placed the Constable in a dehcate situation with the 
relations of his betrothed bride, and willing, by his countenance 
and authority, tg reconcile the disputes which might ensue. 
Perhaps he had better have left Hugo de Lacy to plead his own 
cause ; for the Abbess, though she listened to the communication 
with all the respect due to the highest dignitary of. Ihe English 
Church, drew consequences from the Constable's change of 
resolution which the Primate had not expected. She ventured 
to oppose no obstacle to De Lacy's accomplishment of his vows, 
but strongly argued that the contract with her niece should be 
entirely set aside, and each party left at liberty to form a new 
choice. 

It was in vain that the Archbishop endeavoured to dazzle the 
Abbess with the future honours to be won by the Constable in 
the Holy Land ; the splendour of which would attach not to his 
lady alone, but to all in the remotest degree alUed tb or connected 
with her. All his eloquence was to no purpose, though upon so 
favourite a topic he exerted it to the utmost The Abbess, it is 
true, remained silent for a moment after his argudients had been 
exhausted, but it was only to consider how she should intimate, 
in a suitable and reverent manner, that children, the usual atten- 
^dants of a happy union, and the existence of which she looked to 
for the continuati<m of the house of her father and brother, could 
not be hoped for with any probability, unless the precontract was 
followed by marriage, And the residence of the married parties in 
the same country. She therefore insisted, that the Constable 
having altered his intentions in this most important particulary 
the fian^aiUes should be entirely abrogated and set aside ; and 
she demanded of the Primate, as an act of justice, that, as he had 
interfered to prevent the bridegroom's execution of his original 
purpose, he should now assist with his influence wholly to dissolve 
an engagement which had been thus materially innovated upon. 

The Primate, who was sensible he had himself occasioned De 
Lacy's breach of contract, felt himself bound in honour and re- 
putation to prevent consequences so disagreeable to his friend, 
as the dissolution of an engagement in which his interest and in- 
clii^tions were alike concerned. He reproved the Lady Abbess 
for the carnal and secular views which she, a dignitary 'of the 
church, entertained upon the subject of matrimony, and concern- 
ing the interest of her house. He even upbraided iier with 
selfishly preferring the continuation of the line of Beienger to 



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TALE I. THB BETROTHED. 169 

the recoyery of the Holy Sepuldire, and denounced to her that 
Heaven would be avenged of the shortsighted and merely human 
policy, which postponed the interests of Christendom to those of 
an individual family. 

After this letevere homily, the Prelate took his departure, leav- 
ing the Abbess highly incensed, though she prudently forbore 
returning any irreverent answer, to his paternal admonition. 

In this humour the venerable lady was found by the Constable 
himself, when with some embarrassment, he proceeded to explain 
to her die necessity of his present departure for Palestine. 

She received the communication with sullen dignity ; her ample 
black robe and scapular seeming, as it were, to swell out in yet 
prouder folds as she listened to the reasons and the emergencies 
which compelled the Constable of Chester to defer the marriage 
which he avowed was the dearest wish of his heart, until after 
his return from the Crusade, for which he was about to set 
forth. 

^ Methinks,'' replied the Abbess, with much coldness, ^ if this 
communication is meant for earnest, — and it were no fit busi- 
ness — I myself no fit person,^ — for jesting with — metliinks the 
Constable's resolution should have been proclaimed to us yesterday 
before the JiangaUUt had united his troth with that of Eveline 
Berenger, under expectations very diflferent from those which he 
now announces." 

** On the word of a knight and a gentleman, reverend lady," 
said the Constable, *' I had not then tlie slightest thought that I 
should be called upon to take a step no less distressing to me, 
than, as I see with pain, it is unpleasing to you." 

** I can scarcely conceive," replied the Abbess, ^ the cogent 
reasons, which, existing as they must have done yesterday, have 
nevertheless delayed their operation until to-day." 

** I own," said De Lacy, reluctantly, ** that I entertained too 
ready hopes of obtaining a remission from my vow, which my 
Lord of Canterbury hath, in his zeal for Heaven's service, deemed 
it necessary to refuse me." - 

' ^ At least, then," said the Abbess, veiling her resentment under 
the appearance of extreme coldness, ^ your lordsliip will do us 
the justice to place us in the same situation in which we stood 
yesterday morning ; and, by joining with my niece and her 
friends in desiring the abrogation of a marriage contract, entered 
into with very different views from those which you now entertaui, 
put a young person in that state of liberty of which she is at pre- 
sent deprived by her contract with you." 

** Ah, madam I" said the Constable, <^ what do you ask of me ! 
and in a tone how cold and indifferent do you demand me to 
resign hopes, the dearest which my bosom ever pntertaaned since 
the lifeblood warmed it !" 

^ I am unacquainted with language belonging to such feelings, 
my lord," replied the Abbess ; '' but methinks the prospects 



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170 TALES OF TUB CRUSADERS. 

which coald be bo easily adjoamed for yean, might, by a Httli^ 
aud a very little, farther self-control, be altogether abandoned.** 

Hago de Lacy paced the room in agitation, nor did he answer 
until after a considerable pause. '* If your niece, madam, shares 
the sentiments which you have expressed, I could not, indeed, 
with justice to her, or perhaps to myself, desire to retain that 
interest in her, which our solemn espousals have given me. But 
I must know my doom firom her own lips ; and if it is as severe 
as that which your expressions lead me to fear, I will go to Pa- 
lestine the better soldier of Heaven, that 1 shall have litSe left on 
earth that can interest me.'* 

The Abbess, without farther answer, called on herPrsecen- 
trix, and desired her to command her niece's attendance immedi- 
ately. The Prsecentrix bowed reverently, and withdrew. 

^ May I presume to inquire," said De Lacy, ** whether the 
Lady Eveline hath been possessed of the circumstances which 
have occasioned this unhappy alteration in my purpose !** 

** I have communicated the whole to her, from point to point,** 
said the Abbess, '^ even as it was explained to me this morning 
by my Lord of Canterbury, (for with him I have already ^mken 
upon the subject,) and confinned but now by your lordship's own 
mouth." 

*< I am little obliged to the Archbishop," said the Constable, 
^ for having forest^led my excuses in the quarter where it was 
most important for me that they shoold be accurately stated, and 
favourably received." 

** That," said the Abbess, << is but an item of the account be- 
twixt you and the Prelate, — it concerns not us." 

^ Dare I venture to hope," continued De Lacy, without taking 
offence at the drynesd of the Abbess's manner, ** that Lady Eve- 
line has heard this most unhappy change of cucumstances with- 
out emotion, — I would say, without displeasure t" 

** She is the daughter of a Berenger, my lord," answered the 
Abbess, <<and it is our custom to punidi a breach of faith or to 
contemn it — never to grieve over it. What my niece may do 
in this case, I know not I am a woman of religion, sequestered 
from the world, and would advise peace and Christian forgiveness, 
with a proper sense of contempt for the unworthy treatment 
which she has received. She has followers and vassals, and 
friends, doubtless, and advisers, who may not, in blinded zcheJ for 
woridly honour, recommend to her to sit down slightly with this 
injury, but desire she should rather appeal to the King, or to the 
arms of her father's followers, unless her liberty is restored to 
her by the surrender of the contract into which she has been 
enticed.— But she comes, to answer for herself." 

Eveline entered at the moment, leaning on Rose's arm. She 
had hiid aside mourning since tiie ceremony of th&JianfaUUi, and 
was dressed in a kirtle of white, with an upper robe of pale blue. 
Her head was covered with a veil of white gause« so thin, as te 



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TALK I. THE BETROTHED. 171 

float about her like the misty cloud usually painted around the 
eountenauoe of a seraph. But the face of Eveline, though in 
beauty not unworthy one of this angelic order, was at present &r 
from resembling that of a seraph in tranqunUty of expressioii. 
Her limbs trembled, her cheeks were pale, toe tinge of red 
around tlie eyelids expressed recent tears ; yet amidst these 
natural signs of distress and uncertainty, there was an air of pro- 
found resignation — a resolution to discharge her duty in every 
emergence reigning in the solemn expression of bar eye and eye- 
brow, and shewing her prepared to govern the agitation which 
she could not entirely subdue. And so well were these opposing 
qualities of timidity and resolution mingled on her cheek, that 
Eveline, in the utmost pride of her beauty, never looked more 
fascinating than at that instant ; and Hugo de Lacy, hitherto 
rather an unimpassioned lover, stood in her presence with feeU 
inps as if all the exaggerations <^ romance were realized, and his 
mistress were a being of a higher sphere, from whose doom he was 
to re^ve happiness or misery, life or death. 

It was under the influence of such a feeling, that the warrior 
dropped on one knee before Eveline, took the hand which she 
rather re«gned than gave to him, pressed it to his lips fervently, 
and, ere he parted with it, moistened it with one of the few tears 
which he was ever known to shed. But, although surprised, and 
carried out of his character by a sudden impulse, he regained his 
composure on observing that the Abbess regarded his humilia- 
tion, if it can be so termed, with an air of triumph ; and he en- 
' tared on his defence before Eveline with a manly earnestness, not 
devoid of fervour, nor free from agitation, yet made in a tone of 
fimoness and pride, which seemed assumed to meet and control 
that of the o£fended Abbess. 

^ Lady," he said, addre^ing Eveline, ^ yon have heard from 
the venerable Abbess in whtX unhappy position I have been 
placed since yesterday by the rigour of the Archbishop — per- ^ 
naps I should rather say by his just though severe interpretation 
of my engagement in the Grusade. I cannot doubt that all this 
has been stated with accurate truth by the venerable lady ; but 
as I must no longer call her my friend, let me fear whether she 
has done me justice in her commentary upon the unhappy neces- 
sity which must presently compel me to leave my country, and 
with my country to forego — at best to postpone — the fairest 
hopes which man ever entertained. The venerable lady hath 
upbraided me, that being myself the cause that the execution of 
yesterday's contract is postponed, I would fain keep it suspended 
over your head for an indefinite term of years. No one resigns 
willingly such rights as yesterday gave me ; and, let me speak a 
boastful word, sooner than yield them up to man of woman born, 
I would hold a fair field against all comers, with grinded sword 
and sharp spear, from sunrise to sunset, for three days' space. 
But what I would retain at the price of a thousand livesy I am 



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172 TALES OF THE CRUSADBB8. 

willing to renounce if it would cost you a single agh. If, there- 
fore, you think you cannot remain happy as' the betroth^ of Do 
Lacy, yon may command my asfflstance to have the contract 
annulled, and make some more fortunate man happy." 

He would have ffone on, but felt the danger of being over- 
powered again by those feelings of tenderness so new to his steady 
nature, that he blushed to give way to them. 

Eveline remained silent The Abbess took the word. ^ Kins- 
woman,'' she said, ^ you hear that the generosity — or Ihe jus- 
tice — of the Constable of Chester, proposes, in consequence of 
his departure upon a distant and perilous expedition, to cancel a 
contract entered into upon the specific and precise understanding 
that he was to remain in England for ito fulfilment You can- 
not, methinks, hesitate to accept of Ihe freedom ^hich -he ofifers 
you, with thanks fdr his bounty. For my part, I will reserve 
mine own until I shall see that your joint application is sufficient 
to win to your purpose his Grace of Canterbury, who may again 
interfere with me actions of his friend the Lord Constable, over 
whom he has already exerted so much influence — for the weal, 
doubtless, of his spiritual concerns." 

'^ If it is meant by your words, venerable lady," said the Con- 
stable, ^ that I have any purpose of sheltering myself behind the 
Prehfcte's authority, to avoid doing that which I proclaim my 
readiness, though not my willingness, to do, I can only say, that 
you are the first who has doubt^ the faith of Hugh de Lacy." 
— And while the proud Baron thus addressed a fenude and a re- 
duse, he could not prevent his eye from sparkling, and his cheek 
from flushing. 

^ My gracious and venerable kinswoman," >uud Eveline, sum- 
moning together her resolution, '* and you, my good lord, be not 
oflendei^ tf I pray you not to increase by groundless suspicions 
and hasty resentments your difficulties and mine. My lord, 
the obligations which I lie under to you are such as I can never 
discharge, since they comprehend fortune, life, and honour. 
Know &at, in my anguish of mind, when besieged by the Welsh 
in my castle of the Garde Doloureuse, I vowed to the Virgin, 
that (my honour safe) I would place myself at Ihe disposal of him 
whom Our Lady should employ as her instrument to relieve me 
from yonder hour of agony. In giving me a deliverer, she gave 
me a master ; nor could I desire a more noble one than Hugo de 
Lacy." 

^ Grod forbid, lady," said the Constable, speaking eagerly, as if 
he was afraid his resolution should hil ere he could get the re- 
nunciation uttered, << that I should, by such a tie, to which you 
subjected yourself in the extremity of your distress, bind you to 
any resolution in my favour whidi can put force on your own 
inclinations t" 

The Abbess herself could not help expressing her applause of 
this sentiment, declaring it was spoken like a Norman gentleman ; 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 173 

bat at the same time^ her eyes, turned towards her niece, seemed 
to exhort her to beware huw she declmed to profit by the candour 
of De Lacy. 

But Evelme proceeded, with her eyes fixed on the ground, and 
a stight colour overspreading her face, to state her own sentiments, 
williout listening to the suggestions of any one. *' J will own, 
noble sir," she said, ^ that when your valour had rescued me 
fin>m approaching destruction, I could have wished — honouring 
and respecting you, as I had done your late friend, my excellent 
£Either — ■' that you could have accepted a daughter's service from 
me. I do not pretend entirely to have surmounted these senti- 
ments, although I have combated them, as being unwortliy of nie, 
and ungrateful to you. But, from the moment you were pleased to 
honour me by a claim on this poor hand, I have studiously examined 
my sentiments towards you, and taught myself so far to make them 
coincide with my duty, that I may call myself assured that De 
Lacy would not find in Eveline Berenger an indifferent, far less 
an unworthy bride. In this, sir, you may boldly confide, whether 
tile union you have sought for takes place instantly, or is delayed 
till a longer season. Still farther, I must acknowledge tliat the 
postponement of these nuptials will be more agreeable to me 
than their immediate accomplishment. I am at present very 
young and totally inexperienced. Two or three years will, I trust, 
render me yet more worthy the regard of a mah of honour.'' 

At this dechiration in his favour, however cold and quahfied, 
De Lacy had as much difficulty to restrain his transports as for- 
merly to moderate his agitation. 

'^ Angel of bonnty and of kindness !" he said, kneeling once 
more, and again possessing himself of her hand, <' perhaps I 
ought in honour to resign voluntarily those hopes which you de- 
dine to ravish from me forcibly. But who could be capable of 
such unrelenting magnanimity 1 — Let me hope that my devoted 
attachment — that which you shall hear of me whan at a dis- 
tance — that which you shall know of me when near you — may 
give to your sentiments a more tender warmth than they now 
express ; and, in the meanwhile, blame me not that I accept 
your plighted faith anew, under the conditions which you attach 
to it. I am conscious my wooing has been too late in life to ex- 
pect the animated returns proper to youthful passion ^— Blame 
me not if I remain satisfied with those calmer sentiments which 
make life happy, though they cannot make passion rapturous^ 
Your hand remains in my grasp, but it acknowledges not my 
pressure — Can it be that it refuses to ratify what your lips have 
said r 

^ Never, noble De Lacy !" said Eveline, with more animation 
than she had yet expressed ; and it appeared that the tone w^ 
at length sufficiently encouraging, since her lover was iiaboldened 
to take the lips themselves for guarantee. 
' It was with an air of pride^ mingled with respect, that, after 



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174 TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 

having received this pledge of fidelity, he turned to eondliato 
and to appease tiie offended Abbess. ^ I tmst, venerable 
mother/' he said, ^that yon will resnme your former kind 
thoughts of me, which I am aware were only interrupted by 
yoor tender anxiety for the interest of her who should be dearest 
to us both. Let me hope that I may leave this fair flower under 
protection of the honoured lady who is her next in blood, hi^py 
and secure as she must ever be, while listening to your oouns^ 
and residing within these sacred walls." 

But the Abbess was too deeply displeased to be propitiated by 
a compliment, which periiaps it had been better policy to have 
delayed till a calmer season. *^ My lord," she said, ^ and you, 
fair kinswoman, you ought needs to be i^ware how Uttle my 
counsels — not frequently given where they are . unwillingly 
listened to — can be of avail to those embarked in worldly 
affiiirs. I am a woman dedicated to religion ^ to solitude, and 
seclusion — to the service, in brief, of Our Lady and Saint Bene- 
dict. I have been already censured by my superior because I 
have, for love of you, fair niece, mixed more deeply in secular 
affairs than became the head of a convent of recluses — I wiU 
merit no farther blame on such an account ; nor can you expect 
it of me. My brother's daughter, unfettered by worldly ties, had 
been the welcome sharer of my poor solitude. But this house is 
too mean for the residence of the vowed bride of a mighty baron ; 
nor do I, in my lowliness and inexperience, feel fitness to exer- 
cise over such an one that authority, which must belong to me 
over every one whom this roof protects. The grave tenor of our 
devotions, and the serener contemplation to wMch the females of 
this house are devoted," continued the Abbess, with increasing 
heat and vehemence, ** shall not, for the sake of my worldly con- 
nections, be disturbed by the intrusion of one whose thonghta 
must needs be on the worldly toys of love and marriage." 

^' I do indeed believe, reverend mother," said the Coi^tabk, in 
his turn giving way to displeasure, ''that a richly-dowered 
maiden, unwedded, and unlikely to wed, were a fitter and more 
welcome inmate to the convent, than one who cannot be sepa- 
rated from the world, and whose wealth is not likely to increase 
the House's revenues." 

The Constable did the Abbess great injury in this hasty insinua- 
tion, and it only went to confirm her purpose of rejectine all 
charge of her niece during his absence. She was in truw as 
disinterested as haughty ; and her only reason for anger against 
her niece was, that her advice had not been adopt^ witibout 
hesitation, although the matter regarded Eveline's happiness 
exclusively. 

The ill-timed reflection of the Constable confirmed h^ in the 
resolution which she had already, and hastily adopted. *' May 
Heaven forgive you, Sir Knight," she replied, ** your injurious 
thoughts of His servants ! It is indeed time, for your soul's sake^ 



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TALK 1. THE BETKOTUED. 175 

that you do penaDoe in the Holy Land, having such ra^h judg* 
ments to repent of. — For you, my niece, you cannot want that 
hospitality, which, without verifying, or seeming to verify, unjust 
suspicions, I cannot now grant to you, while you have, in your 
kinswoman of Baldringham, a seci^ relation, whose nearness of 
blood approaches mine, and who may open her gates to you with* 
out incurring the unworthy censure, tliat she means to enrich 
herself at your cost." 

The G>nstable saw the deadly paleness which came over Eve* 
line's cheek at this proposal, and, without knowing the cause of 
her repugnance, he hastened to relieve her from the apprehen- 
sions which she seemed evidently to entertain. '* No, reverend 
mother," he said ; ^ since you so harshly reject the care of your 
kinswoman, she shall not be a burden to any of her other rela- 
tives. While Hugo de Lacy hath six gallant castles, and many a 
manor besides, to maintain fire upon their hearths, bis betrothed 
bride shall burden no one with her society, who may regard it as 
otherwise than a great honour; and methinks I were much 
poorer than Heaven hath made me, could I not furnish friends 
and followers sufficient to serve, obey, and protect her.'' 

'^ No, my lord," said Eveline, recovering from the dejection 
into which she had been thrown by the unkindness of her rela- 
tive ; ** once some unhappy destiny separates me from the pro- 
tection of my father's sister, to whom I could so securely hav« 
resigned myself, I will neiflier apply for shelter to any more dis- 
tant relation, nor accept of that which you, my lord, so generously 
offer ; since my doing so might excite harsh, and, I am sure, un- 
deserved reproaches, against her by whom I was driven to 
choose a less advisable dwelling-place. I have made my resolu- 
tion. I have, it is true, only one friend left, but she is a powerful 
one, and is able to protect me against the particular evil fate 
which seems to follow me, as well as against the ordinary evils of 
hmnan life." 

*^ The Qneen, 1 suppose 1" said the Abbess, interrupting her 
impatiently. 

<< The Qneen of Heaven ! venerable kinswoman," answered 
Eveline ; ** our Lady of the Garde Doloureuse, ever gracious to 
our house, and so lately my especial guardian and protectress. 
Methinks, since the vowed votaress of the Virgin rejects me, it 
\a to her holy patroness whom 1 ought to apply for succour." 

The venerable dame, taken somewhat at unawares by this 
answer, pronounced the interjection ^ Umph !" in a tone better 
befitting a Lollard or an Iconoclast, than a CathoUc Abbess, and 
a daughter of the House of Berenger. Truth is, the Lady 
A.bbesB'8 hereditary devotion to the Lady of the Grarde Doloureuse 
was much decayed since she had known the full merits of 
another gifted image, the property of her own convent. 

Recollecting herself, (lowever, she remained silent, while th^ 
Constable alleged the vicinity of the Welsh, as what might po^ 



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176 TALBS OF THE CRUSADBB9. 

ubly again render the abode of his betrothed bride at the Garde 
Doloureufle as perilous as she had on a former occasion found it. 
To this Eveline replied, by reminding him of the great strength 
of her native fortress — the various sieges -which it had with- 
stood — and the important circumstance, that, upon the late 
occasion, it was only endangered, because, in compliance with a 
point of honour, her father Raymond had sallied out with the 
garrison, and fought at disadvantage a battle under the walls. 
She farther suggested, that it was easy for the Constable to name, 
from among his own vassals or hers, a seneschal of such approved 
prudence and valour, as might eosure the safety of the place, and 
of its lady. 

Ere De Lacy could reply to her arguments the Abbess rose, 
and, pleading her total inability to give counsel in secular affairs, 
and the rules of her order, which called her, as she said, with a 
heightened colour and raised voice, *' to the simple and peaceful 
discharge of her conventual duties," she left the betrothed parties 
in the locutory, or parlour, without any company, save Rose, who 
prudently remained at some distance. i 

The issue of their private conference seemed agreeable to both ; 
and when Eveline told Rose that they were to return presently 
to the Garde Doloureuse, under a sufficient escort, and were to 
remain there during the period of the Crusade, it was in a tone 
of heartfelt satisfaction, which her follower had not heard her 
make use of for many days. She spoke also highly in praise €tS 
the kind acquiescence of the Constable in her wishes, and of his 
whole conduct, with a warmth of gratitude approaching.to a more 
tender feeling. 

" And yet, my dearest lady," said Rose, ^ if you will speak 
unfeignedly, you must, I am convinced, allow that you look upon 
this interval of years, interposed betwixt your contract and your 
marriage, rather as a respite than in any other light." 

<< I confess it," said Eveline, ^ nor have I concealed from my 
future brd that such are my feelings, ungracious as they may 
seem. But it is my youth. Rose, my extreme youth, which 
makes me fear the duties of De Lacy's wife. Then those evil 
auguries hang strangely about' me. Devoted to evil by one kins- 
woman, expeUed almost from the roof of another, I seem to ray- 
self, at present, a creature who must carry distress with her, 
pass where she will. This evil hour, and, what is more, tlie 
apprehensions of it, will give way to time. When I shall have 
attained the age of twenty, Rose, I shall be a full-grown woman, 
with all the soul of a Berenger strong within me, to overcome 
those doubts and tremors whichagitate the girl of seventeen." 

'^ Ah ! my sweet mistress," answered Rose, ^ may God and 
our Lady of the Grarde Doloureuse guide all for the best 1 — But 
I would that this contract had not taken place, or, having taken 
pUoe, diat it could have been fulfilled by your immediate union." 



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TAIiB I. THB BETROTHBD4 177 



CHAPTER XX. 

The King oUrd down his merry-DMn all. 

By one, and by two, and tliree ; 
Earl Marshal was wont to be tiie foremost man, 

fiut the iiindmost man was he. 

OldBaUaiL 

Iv &e Ladv^ Eveline retired satisfied and pleased from.ber 
private interview with De Laey, the joy on the part of the Con- 
stable arose to a higher pitch of rapture than he was in thd habit 
of feeling or expressing ; and it was augmented by a visit of the 
leeehes who attended bis nephew, from whom he received a 
minute wad partiedar account of his present disorder, with every 
assarance of a speedy recovery. 

The Constable caused alms to be distributed to the ocmvents 
and to the poor, masses to be said, and tapers to be lighted. He 
visited the Archbishop, and received from him his full appro- 
bation of tiie course which he proposed to pursue, with the 
TOomise, that out of the plenary power which he held from the 
Pope, the Prelate was willing, in consideration of his 'instant 
obedience, to limit his stay in the Holy Land to the term of three 
years, to become current from his leaving Britain, and to include 
the space necessary for his return to his native country. Indeed, 
having succeeded in the main point, the Archbishop judged it 
wise to concede every inferior consideration to a person of the 
Constable's rank and character, whose good-wiU to the proposed 
expedition was perhaps as essential to its success as Ins bodily 
presence. 

^ In short, the Constable returned to his pavilion highly satisfied 
with the manner in which he had extricated himself from those 
difficulties which in the morning seemed almost insuperable ; and 
when his officers assembled to disrobe him, ^for great feudal 
lords had their levees and couchees, in imitation of sovereign 
princes,) he distributed gratuities among them, and jested and 
ttogh^ in a much gayer humour than they had ever before 
witnessed. 

^ For thee," he said, turning to Vidal the minstrel, who, 
sumptuously dressed, stood to pay his respects among the other 
attendants, ^ I will give thee nought at present ; but do thou 
remain by my bedside until I am asleep, and I will next morning 
reward thy minstrelsy as I like it." 

<* My lor^,** said Vidal, " I am already rewarded, both by the 
honbur, and by the liveries, which better befit a royal minstrel 
than one of my mean fame ; but assign me a subject, and I will 
do my best, not out of greed of future largess, but gratitude for 
past favours." 

^ Gramercy, good fellow," said the Constable. " Guarint," h* 

VOL. XIX. M 



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178 TALES OF THB CRUSADERS. 

added, addreisin^ his sqiuie, <* let the watch be posted) and do 
Ihou remain within the tent — stretch thyself on the bear-hide, 
and sleep, or listen to the minstrelsy, as thou likest best Thoa 
thinkest thyself a judge, I have heard, of such gear.'* 

It was usual, in those insecure times, tor some fiuthful 
dcnnestic to sleep at night within the tent of every great baron, 
that, if danger arose, he might not be unsupported or unprotected. 
Guarine accordingly drew his sword, and, taking it in ms hand, 
stretched himself on the ground in such a manner, that, on the 
slightest alarm, he could spring up, sword in hand. His broad 
bl^k eyes, in which sleep contended with a desire to listen to 
the music, were fixed on Yidal, who saw them glittering in 
the reflection of the silver hunp, like those of a dragon or a 
basilisk. 

After a few preliminary touches on the chords of his rote, the 
minstrel requested of the Constable to name the subject on which 
be desired the exerdse of his powers. 

^ The truth of woman," answered Hugo de Lacy, as he laid his 
head upon his pillow. ', 

After a short prelude, the minstrel obeyed, by singing nearly 
as follows : — 

L 

'* Woman's fidth, and woman's trust -— 
Write the characters in dost ; 
Stamp them on the running stream, 
Print them on the moon's pale beam. 
And each eranescent letter 
Shall be clearer, firmer, better. 
And more permanent, I ween, 
Than the thing those letters mean. 

DL 

** I have itrain'd tbo spider's thread 

'Gainst the promise of a maid ; 

I liave wdgh'd a grain of sand 

'Gainst her plight of heart and hand ; 

I told my true love of the tokoi. 

How iier fidth proved light, and her word was broken : 

Again her word and truth she plight, 

And I believed them again ere night." 

** How now, sir knave,'' said the Constable, raising himself on 
his elbow, *^ firom what drunken rhymer did you leam that half- 
witted satire." 

** From an old, ragged, crossgrained friend of mine, called 
Experience," answered Vidal. " I pray Heaven he may never 
take your lordship, or any other worthy man, under his tuition.'* 

** Go to, fellow,^* said the Constable, in reply ; «* thou art one of 
those wiseacres, I warrant me, that would fain be thought witty, 
because thou canst make a jest of those things which wiser men 
hold worthy of moat worship, — the honour of men, and the truth 
of women. Dost uiou call thyself a minstrel, and hast no tale of 
female fidelity r 



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TALE I. THE BETUOTHBD; 179 

<* I had right many a one, noble sir, but I laid them aside wheii 
I disused my practice of the jesting part of the Joyous Science. 
Nevertheless, if it pleases your nobleness to listen I can sing you 
an established lay upon such a subject" 

De Lacy made a sign of acquiescence, and laid himself as if to 
slumber ; while Vidal began one of those intenminable and almost 
innumerable adventures concerning that paragon of true lovers, 
&ir Ysolte ; and of the constant and uninterrupted faith and 
affection which she displayed in numerous situations of difficulty 
and peril, to her paramour, Uie gallant Sir Tristram, at the ej^- 
pense of her less &voured husband, the luckless King Mark of 
Cornwall ; to whom, as all the world knows, Sir Tristrem was 
nephew. 

This was not the lay of love and fidelity which De Lacy would 
have chosen ; but a feeling like shame prevented his interrupting 
it, perhaps because be was unwilling to yield to or acknowledge 
the unpleasing sensations excited by the tenor of the tale. He 
soon fell asleep, or feigned to do so ; and the harper, continuing 
for a time his monotonous chant, began at length himself to feel 
the influence of slumber ; his words, and the notes which he con- 
tinoed to touch upon the harp, wera broken and interrupted, and 
seemed to escape drowsily from his fingers and voice. At length 
the sounds ceased entiraly, and the minstral seemed to have sunk 
into profound rapose, with his head reclining on his breast, and 
one arm dropped down by his side, while the other rested on his 
harp. His slumber, however, was not very long, and when he 
awoke from it, and cast his eyes around mm, reconnoitring, by 
the light of the night-lamp, whatever was in the tent, he felt a 
heavy hand, which pressed his shoulder as if sently to solicit his 
attention. At the same time the voice of ue vigilant Philip 
Gruarine whispered in his ear, << Thine office for the night is 
ended — depart to thine own quarters with all the silence thou 
mayst" 

The minstrel wrapt himself in his cloak without reply, though 
periu^ not without feeling some resentment at a cUsmissal so 
nnoeremonious. 



CHAPTER XXL 

Oh I then I see Queen Mab has been wRh yon. 

Borneo and Juliet. 

Thb subject on which the mind has last been engaged at night 
is apt to occupy our thoughts even during slumber, when Imagi- 
nation, uncorrected by the organs of sense, weaves her own fan- 
ta-^tic web out of whatever ideas rise at random in the Fleener. 
It is not surprising, thereforej that De Lacy in liis dreums had 



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18d TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 

some oooiiised idea of being identified with the unhicky Mark of 
Cornwall ; and that be awakened from sncfa unpleasant vitiona 
with a Ihk>w more ckxided thaa when he was preparing for hia 
couch on the evening before. He was silent, and seeing lost in 
thought, while hie squire assisted at his levee with the respect now 
only paid to sovereigns^ ^ Gruarine," at length he said, << know 
you the stout Fleming, who was said to have borne him so well at 
the siege of the Garde Dokmreuse I — a tall, big, brawny man." 

^ Surely, my lord," answered his squire ; ** I know WilkiB 
Flammock — I saw him but yesterday." 

« Indeed !" replied the Constable >-^ Here, meanest thou t— 
In this dty of 6k>uceeter V* 

** Assuredly, my go6d lord. He came hither partly about his 
merchandise, partly, I think, to see his daughter Rose, who is in 
' attendance on the gracious young Lady Evdine." 

'^ He is a stout soldier, is he not I" 

^ Like most of his kind — a rampart to a castle, but rubbish in 
the field," said the Norman squire. 

<< Faithful, also, is he not !" continued the Constable. 

** Faithful as most Flemings, while you can pay for their CuthT* 
replied Ghiarine, wondering a little at the unusual interest taken 
in one whom he esteemed a being of an infericnr order ; when, after 
some further inquiries, the Constable ordered the Fleming's at^ 
tendance to be presently commanded. 

Other business of the morning now occurred, (for his speedy 
departure required many arrangements to be hastily adopted,} 
when, as the Constable was giving audience to several ofiioers of 
his troops, the bulky figure of Wilkin Flammock was seen at 
the entrance of the pavihon, in jerkin of white cloth, and having 
only a knife by his side. 

** Leave the tent, mv masters," said 0e Lacy, ^ but continue in 
attendance in the neighbouriiood ; for here comes one I must 
speak to in private." 

The officers withdrew, and the Constable and Fleming were left 
alone. *^ You are Wilkin Flammock, who fought well against the 
Welsh at the Garde Doloureuse I" 

« I did my best, my lord," answered Wilkin — ** I was bound 
to it by my bargiEun ; and I hope ever to act like a man of 
credit." 

<< Methinks," said the Constable, ^ that you, bo stout of Umb, 
and, as I hear, so bold in spirit, might look a little higher than 
tins weaving trade, of thine." 

** No one is reluctant to mend his station, my lord," said Wil- 
kin ; '^ yet I am so fiur from complaining of mine, that I would 
willingly consent it should never be better, on condition I could 
be assured it were never worse." 

*^ Nay, but, Flammock," said the Constable, ** I mean higher 
tilings for you than your modesty apprehends — I mean to leave 
thee in a diarge of great trust*^ 



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] 



TALE I. THE BBTBOTHBD. l81 

^ Let it concern bales of drapery^ my lord, and so one will 
perform it better," said the Fleming. 

*^ Away 1 thou art too lowly minded," said the Constable. 
^ What think'st thou of being dubbed knight, as thy vafeur weU 
deserves, and left as Chattelain of the Garde Doloureuse !" 

*< F<v the knighthood, my lord, I should crave your forgiTe* 
nesB ; for it would sit on me like a gilded helmet on a hog. For 
any charge, whether of castle or cottage, I trust I might discharge 
it as weU as another." 

^ I fear me thy rank must be in some way mended," said the 
Constable, surveying the unmilitary dress of the figure before 
bim ; ^ it is at present too mean to befit the protector and 
gnarfian oi a young lady of high burtfa and rank." 

^ I the guaxdian of a young lady df birth and rank !" said 
Flammock, his light large eyes turning larger, lighter, and rounder 
as he qpoke. 

^Even thou," said the Constable. ''The Lady Eveline pro* 
poses to take up her rendence in her castle of the Garde Dolou- 
vense. I have been casting about to whom I may intrust the 
keeping of her person as well as of the stronghold. Were I to 
diooee some kmght of name, as I have many in my household, 
he would be setting about to do deeds of vassalage upon the 
Welsh, and engaging himself in turmoils, which would render the 
safety of the castte precarious ; <nr he would be absent on feats of 
efaivahry, tonmaments, and hunting parties ; or he would, per« 
chance, have shows of that light nature under the walls, or even 
within the courts of the casUe, turning the secluded and quiet 
abode, which becomes the situation <^ the Lady Eveline, into the 
misrule of a dissolute revel. — Thee I can confide in — thou wilt 
fight when it is requisite, yet wilt not provoke danger for the 
s&e of danger itself — thy birth, thy habits, will lead thee to 
avoid those gaieties, which, however fiiscinating to others, cannot 
but be distasteful to thee — thy management will be as regular, 
as I will take care that it shall be honourable ; and thy relation 
to her favourite, Rose, will render thy guardianship more agj^ee- 
able to the Lady Eveline, than, perchance, one of her own ran!c' 
— And, to speak to thee a language which thv nation readily 
comprehends, tiie reward, Fleming, for the regular discharge of 
tiiis most weighty trust, shall be beyond thy most flattering 



» Fleming had listened to the first part of this discourse with 
an expression of surprise, which gradually gave way to one of 
deep and anxious reflection. He gazed fixedly on the earth for 
a minute after the Constable had ceased speaking, and then rais- 
ing up his eyes suddenly, said, ^\t\a needless to seek for round- 
alMut excuses. This cannot be your earnest^ my lord — but if it 
is, the scheme is naught." 

*^ How and wherefore !" asked the Constabtoi with diq^leased 
Mirprise. 



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182 TALB8 OF THE CRUSADERS. 

. ** Asofher man may grasp at your b<mnty/' continued WUkin, 
** and leave you to take chance of the value you were to receive 
for it ; but I am a downright dealer, I will not take payment for 
eervice I cannot render." 

^ But I demand, once more, wherefore thou canst not,x>r rather 
will not, accept this trust I" said the Constable. ** Surely, if I 
am willing to confer such confidence, it is well thy part to an- 
swer it" 

*^ True, my lord," said the Fleming ; ^ but methinks the noble 
Lord de Lacy should feel, and the wise Lord de Lacy should fore- 
see, that a Flemish weaver is no fittmg guardian for his pUghted 
bride. Think her shut up in yonder sontanr castle, under such 
respectable protection, and reflect how long we place will be soli- 
tary in this land of love and of adventure ! We shall have min- 
strels singing ballads by the threave under our windows, and sncfa 
twangling of harps as would be enough to frighten our walls from 
their foundations, as clerks say happened to those of Jericho — 
We shall have as many knights-errant around us as ever had 
Charlemagne, or King Arthur. Mercy on me I A less matter 
than a fine and noble recluse immured — so will they term it — 
in a tower, under the guardianship of an old Flemish weaver, 
would bring half the chivalry in Engkmd round us, to break 
lances, vow vows, display love-liveries, and I know not what 
follies besides. — Think you such gallants, with the blood flying 
through their veins like quicksilver, would much mind my bidding 
them begone V* 

^ Draw bolts, up with Uie drawbridge, dropportcnlliB," said 
the Constable, with a constrained smile. 

^ And thinks your lordship such gallants would mind these im- 
pediments % such are the very essence of the adventures which 
they Qome to seek. — The Knight of the Swan would swim through 
the moat — he of the Eagle would fly over the walls — he of the 
Thunderbolt would burst open the gates." 

^ Ply crossbow and mangonel," said De Lacy. 

** And be besieged in form," said the Fleming, ^ like the Castle 
of Tintadgel in the old hangings, all for the love of fair Udy I — 
And then those gay dames ana demoiselles, who go upon adveiT- 
ture from castle to castle, from tournament to tournament, with 
bare bosoms, flaunting plumes, poniards at their sides, and jave- 
lins in their hands, chattering like magpies, and fluttering like 
jays, and, ever and anon, cooing like doves — how am I to ex- 
clude such from the Lady Eveline's privacy I" 

^ By keeping doors shut, I tell thee," answered the Constable, 
still in the same tone of forced joculiurity ; <* a wooden bar will 
be thy warrant." 

" Ay, but," answCTed Flammock, " if the Flemish weaver say 
fAttf, when the Norman young lady says open, think which has 
best chance of being obeyed. At a word, my lord, for the matter 
of guardianship, and such like, 1 wash my hands of it — I would 



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TALB I. THE BETROTHED. 183 

iii>t undertake to be guardian to the chaste Susannah, though she 
fived in an enchanted castle which no living thing could ap- 
proach.'' 

*^ Thou holdest the language and thoughts," said De Lacy, ^ of 
a Tulgar debauchee, who laughs at female constancy, because he 
has lived only wiUi the most worthless of the sex. Yet thou 
dbouldst know the contrary, having, as I know, a most virtuous 
daughter " 

*^ Whose mother was not less so," said WUkin, breaking in 
upon the Constable's speech with somewhat more emotion dian 
he usually displayed. ^ But law, my lord, gave me authority to 
govern and direct my wife, as both law and nature give me 
power and charge over my daughter. That which I can govern, 
I can be answerable for ; but how to discbarge me so well of a 
delegated trust, is another question. — Stay at home, my good 
lord," continued the honest Fleming, observing that his speech 
made some impresnon upon De Lacy ; '^ let a fool's advice for 
once be of avail to change a wise man's purpose, taken, let me 
say, in no wise hour. Remain in your own land, rule your own 
vassals, and protect your own bride. You only can claim her 
cfaeerfol love and ready obedience ; and sure I am, that, without 
pretending to guess what she may do if separated from you, she 
will, under your own eye, do the duty of a faithful and a loving 
spouse." 

^ And the Holy Sepulchre I" said the Constable, with a sigh, 
lu8 heart confessing the wisdom of the advice, which circum- 
stances prevented bun from following. 

** Let those who lost the Holy Sepulchre regam it, my lord," 
reined Fhunmock. '^ If those Latins and Greeks, as they call 
tiiem, are no better men than I have heard, it signifies very little 
whether they or the heathen have the country that has cost 
Europe so much blood and treasure." 

^ In good £Euth," said the Constable, ^ there is sense in what 
thon say'st ; but I caution thee to repeat it not, lest thou be taken 
for a heretic or a Jew. For me, my word and oath are pledged 
beyond retreat, and I have only to consider whom I may l^t 
name for that important station, which thy caution has — not 
without some shadow of reason — induced thee to decline." 

^ There is no man to whom your lordship can so naturally or 
honourably transfer such a charge," said Wilkin Flammock, ^' as 
to the kinsman near to you, and possessed of your trust ; yet 
much better would it be were there no such trust to be reposed 
in any one." 

" If," said the Constable, <' by my near kinsman, you mean 
Bandal de Lacy, I care not if I tell you, that I consider him as 
totally worthless, and undeserving of honourable confidence." 

** Nay, I mean another," said Flammock, " nearer to you by 
blood, and, unless I greatly mistake, much nigher also in affection 
•-I had in mind your lordship's nephew, Damian de Lacy." 



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184 TALES OP THB CRUSADERS. 

The Constable started as if a wasp had stung him ; bat instaatly 
replied, with forced composure, <<Damian was to have gone iu 
my stead to Palestine — it now seems I must go in his ; for, since 
this last illness, the leeches have totally changed their minds, and 
consider tha^ warmth of the climate as dangerous, which they 
formerly decided to be salutary. But our learned doctors, like our 
learned priests, must ever be in the right, change their counsels 
as they may ; and we poor laynfen still in the wrong. I can, it is 
true, rely on Damian with the utmost confidence ; but he is young, 
Flammock — very young — and in that particular, resembles bi]t 
too nearly the party who might be otherwise committed to his 



hen once moro, my lord," said the plain-spoken Fleming, 
^ remain at home, and be yourself the protector of what is natu- 
rally so dear to you.'* 

<< Once more, I repeat tiiat I cannot,'* answered the Constable. 
*< The step which I have adopted as a great duty, may periiaps 
be a great error — I only know that it is irretrievable." 

" Trust your nephew, then, my lord," replied Wilkin — ** he is 
honest and true ; and it is better trusting young lions than old 
wolves. He may err, perhaps, but it will not be from premedi- 
tated treacherv." 

^ Thou art right, Flanmiock," said the Constable ; ^ and perhaps 
I ought to wish I had sooner asked thy counsel, blunt as it is. 
But let what has passed be a secret betwixt us ; and bethink 
thee of something that may advantage thee more than the privilege 
of speaking about my aflfairs." 

^ That account will be easily settled, my lord," rq>lied Flam- 
mock ; ^ for my object was to ask your lordship's favour to obtain 
certain extensions of our privileges, in yonder wild comer ^ere 
we Flemings have made our retreat." 

<^ Thou iSialt have them, so they be not exorbitant," said the 
Constable. And the honest Fleming, among whose good qualities 
scrupulous delicacy was not the foremost, hastened to detail, with 
great minuteness, the particulars of his request or petition, long 
pursued in vain, but to which this interview was the means of 
insuring success. 

The Constable, eager to execute the resolution which he had 
formed, hastened to the lodging of Damian de Lacy, and to the 
no small astonishment of his nephew, intimated to him his change 
of destination ; alleging his own hurried departure, Damian's 
late and present illness, together with the necessary protection to 
be afforded to the Lady £veline, as reasons why his nephew 
must needs remain behind him — to represent him during his 
absence — to protect the family rights, and assert the family 
honour of the house of De Lacy — above all, to act as the guardian 
of the young and beautiful bride, whom his uncle and patron had 
been in some measure compelled to abandon for a time. 

Damian yet occupied his bed while the Constable commamaUed 



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TAIiB J. THB BETROTHED. 185 

this diADge of porpoee. Perlftps he might think the dreams^ce 
ftirtimate, that in this position he could conceal from his unde'a 
observation the ▼arioos emotions which he could not help feeling ; 
while the Constable, with the eagerness of one who is desirous of 
hastily finishing what he has to say on an unpleasant subject, 
hurried over an account of the arrangements which he had made, 
in order that his nephew might have the means of discharging, 
with sufficient effect, the important trust committed to him. 

The youth listened as to a voice in a dream, which he had not 
the power .pf interrupting, though there was something within him 
which whispered there would he both prudence and integrity in 
remonstrating against his uncle's alteration of pkm. Somethinr 
be accordingly attempted to say, when the Constable at length 
paused ; but it was too feebly spoken to shake a resolution fiUly 
though hastily adopted and explicitly announced, by one not in 
the use to sp^ before his purpose was fixed, or to alter it when 
it was declared. 

The remonstrance of Bamian, besides, if it could be termed 
BQch, was spoken in tenns too contradictory to be intelligible. 
In one moment he professed his regret for tiie laurels which he 
had hoped to gather in Palestine, and implored his uncle not to 
alter his purpose, but permit him to attend his banner thither ; 
and in the next sentence, he professed his readiness to defend the 
safety of Lady Eveline with the last drop of his blood. De Lacy 
saw nothing inconsistent in these feelings, though they were for 
the moment contradictory to each other. It was natural, he 
tiiought, that a young knight should be desirous to win honour — 
natural also that he should willingly assume a charge so honour- 
aUe and important as that with which he proposed to invest him ; 
and therefore he thought that it was no wdnder that, assuming 
his new office willingly, the young man should yet feel regret at 
losing the prospect of honourable adventure, which he must 
abandon. He therefore only smiled in reply to the broken 
expostulations of his nephew ; and, having confirmed his former 
arrangement, left the youns man to reflect at leisure on his 
change of destination, while he himself, in a second visit to the 
Benedictine Abbey, communicated the purpose which he had 
adopted, to the Abbess, and to his bride-elect. 

The displeasure of the fortner lady was in no measure abated by 
this communication ; in which, indeed, she affected to take very 
little interest She pleaded her reheious duties, and her want of 
knowledge of secular affairs, if she should chance to mistake the 
usages of the world ; vet she had always, she said, understood, 
that the guardians of the young and beautiful of her own sex were 
^oeen from the more mature of the other. 

<* Your own unkindness, lady,** answered the Constable, ^ leaves 
me no better choice than I have made. Since the Lady Eveline's 
nearest friends deny her the privilege of their roof, on account of 
the daim with which she has honoured me, T, on my side, were 



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IBS TALES OP THE CRUSADERS. 

woree than vn^ratefiil did I irot secure for ber the prote6tion of 
roy nearest male heir. Damian is youne, but he is true and 
honourable ; nor does the diivalry of Engluid afford me a better' 
choice." 

Eveline seemed surprised, and even struck with consternation, 
at the resolution which her bridegroom thus suddenly announced ; 
and perhaps it was fortunate that the remark of the Lady Abbess 
made the answer of the Constable necessary, and prevented him 
from observing that her colour shifted more than once from pale 
to deep red. 

Rose, who was not excluded from the conference, drew close 
up to her mistress ; and, by affecting to adjust her veU, while in 
secret she strongly pressed her hand, gave her time and encou- 
ragement to compose her mind for a reply. It was brief and 
decisive, and announced with a firmness which shewed that the 
uncertainty of the moment had passed away or been suppressed. 
'' In case of danger," she said, " she would not fail to apply to 
Damian de Lacy to come to her aid, as he had once done before ; 
but she did not apprehend any danger at present, within her own 
secure castle of the Garde Doloareuse, where it was her purpose 
to dwell, attended only by her own household. She was resolved," 
she continued, ** in consideration of her peculiar condition, to 
observe the strictest retirement, which she expected would not 
be violated even by the noble young knight who was to act as her 
guardian, unless some apprehension for her safety made his visit 
unavoidable.'* 

The Abbess acquiesced, though coldly, in a proposal, which her 
ideas of decorum recommended ; and preparations were hastily- 
made for the Lady Eveline's return to the castle of her father. 
Two interviews which hitervened before her leaving the convent, 
were in their nature painful. The first was when Damian was 
formally presented to her by his uncle, as the delegate to whom 
he had committed the charge of his own property, and, which was 
much dearer to him, as he affirmed, the protection of her person 
and interest. 

Eveline scarce trusted herself with one glance ; but that single 
look comprehended and reported to her the ravage which disease, 
aided by secret grief, had made on the manly form and handsome 
countenance of the youth before her. She received his salutation 
in a manner as embarrassed as that in which it was made ; and, 
to his hesitating proffer of service, answered, that she trusted only 
to be obliged to him for his good-will during the interval of his 
uncle's absence. 

Her parting with the Constable was the next trial which she 
was to undergo. It was not without emotion, although she pre> 
served her modest composure, and De Lacy his calm gravity of 
deportment. His voice faltered, however, when he came to 
announce, ** that it were unjust ^e should be bound by the en- 
gagement which she had been graciously contented to abide under. 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 187 

Three years he had assigned for its term ; to which spaoe the 
Ardib^op Baldwin had consented to shorten the period of his 
absence. If I appear not when these are elapsed," he said, 
** let the Lady Eveline conclude that the grave holds De Lacy, 
and seek out for her mate some happier man. She cannot find 
one more gratefol, though there are many who better deserve 
her." 

On these terms they parted ; and the Constable, speedily after- 
wards embarking, ploughed llie narrow seas for we shores of 
Flanders, where he proposed to unite his forces with the Count of 
that rich and warlike country, who had lately taken the Cross, and 
to proceed by the route which should be found most practicable 
on their destination for the Holy Land. The broad pennon, with 
the arms of the Lacys, streamed forward with a favourable wind 
from the prow of the vessel, as if pointing to the quarter of the 
horizon where its renown waste beausmented ; and, considering 
the fame of the leader, and the exc^lence of the soldiers who 
followed hhn, a more gallant band, in proportion to their numbers, 
never went to avenge on the Saiacens the evils endured by the 
Latins of Palestine. 

Meanwhile Eveline, after a cold parting with the Abbess, whose 
offended dignity had not yet forgiven the slight regard which she 
had paid to her opinion, resumed her journey homeward to her 
paternal oastle^ where her household was to be arranged in a 
manfler suggested by the Constable, and approved of by herself. 

The same preparations were made for her accommodation at 
every halting place which she had experienced upon her journey 
to Gloucester, and, as before, the purveyor was invisible, although 
ishe could be at littie loss to guess his name. Yet it appeared as 
if the character of these preparations was in some degree altered. 
All the realities of convenience and accommodation, with the most 
perfect assurances of safety, accompanied her every where on the 
route ; but they were no longer mingled with that display of 
tender gallantry and taste, which marked that the attentions were 
paid to a young and beautiful female. The clearest fountainhead, 
and the most £ady grove, were no longer selected for the noGn- 
tide repast ; but die house of some franklin, or a small abbey, 
afforded the necessary hospitality. All seemed to be ordered with 
the most severe attention to rank and decorum — it seemed as if 
a nun of some strict order, rather than a young maiden of high 
quality and a rich inheritance, had been journeying through the 
land, and Eveline, though pleased with the delicacy which seemed 
thus to respect her unprotected and peculiar condition, would 
sometimes think it unnecessary, that, by so many indirect hints, 
it should be forced on her recollection. 

She thought it strange also, that Damian, to whose care she 
had been so solemnly conrniitted, did not even pay his respects 
to her on the road. Something there was which whispered to 
her, that dote and frequent intercourse might be unbecoming — 



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188 TALBS OF THE CRUSADERi. 

even dangerous ; but surely the ordinary duties of t kni^t and 
gentieman enjoined bim some personal communication with the 
maiden under his escort, were it oufy to ask if her aeconunoda- 
tions had been made to her satisfaction, or if she had any special 
wish which was ungratified. The only intercourse, however, 
which took place betwixt them, was through means of Amelot, 
Damian de Lacy's youthful page, who came at morning and 
•vening to receive Eveline's commands concerning their route, 
and the hours of journey and repose. 

These formalities rendered the solitude of Eveline's return 
less endurable ; and had it not been for the society of Rose, she 
would have found herself under an intolerably irksome degree of 
constraint. She even hazarded to her attendant some remarks 
upon the singularity of De Lacy^s oonduct, who, authorized as 
he was b/ his situation, seemed yet as much afraid to approach 
her as if she had been a basilisk. 

Rose let the first observation of this nature pass as^if it had 
been unheard ; but when her mistress made a second renoark to 
the same purpose, she answered^ with the truth and freedom of 
her character, though periiaps with less of her usual prudence^ 
^ Damian de Lacy juc^ w^ noble lady. He to whom the 
safe keeping of a royal treasure is intrusted, should not indulge 
himself too often by gazing upon it" 

Eveline blushed, wrapt herselT doser hi her veil, nor did she 
again during their journey mention the name of Damian de 
Lacy. 

When the gray turrets of the Crarde Doloureuse greeted her 
aght on the evening of the second day, and she once mor^ 
beheld her father's banner floating from its highest watdi-tower 
in honour of her approach, her sensations were mingled witfi 
pain ; but, upon the whole, she looked towards that ancient 
home as a place of refii^, where she might indulge the new 
train of thoughts which circumstances had opened to her, amid 
the same scenes which bad Weltered her infancy and childhood. 

She pressed forward her palfrey, to reach we ancient portal 
as soon as possible, bowed hastily to the well-known faces which 
shewed themselves on all sides, but spoke to no one, until, dis^ 
mounting at the chapel door, she had penetrated to the crypt, in 
which was preserved the miracukms painting. There, prostrate 
on the ground, she implored the guidance and protection of the 
Holy Virgin through tiiose intricacies m which she had involved 
herself, by the fulfilment of tiie vow which she had made in her 
angui^ before the same shrine. If the prayer was misdueoted, 
its purport was vurtnous and sincere ; nor are we disposed to 
doubt that it attained that Heaven towuds which it waa devootlj 
addreved. 



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TALB I. THB BETROTHED. 189 



CHAPTER XXII. 

The Virgin*! imflge falls — yet lome, I wttm. 
Not unfortHven the auppliant knee miglit bend* 
As to a visible power, in which might blend 
All that wns mix'd, and reconciled in her, 
Of motlier'g love with maiden's purity. 
Of high with low, cekuttial with terrene^ 

WoRDflWOBTB. 

Thje household of the Lady Eveline, though of an eetabliah- 
ment becoming her present and future rank, was of a solemn 
and sequestered ehanicter, corresponding to her place of resi' 
dence, and the privacy connected with her situation, retired as 
she was from the class of maidens who are yet unengaged, and 
yet not united with tliat of matrons, who enjoy the protection of 
a married name. Her immediate feqiale attendants, with whom 
the reader is already acquainted, constituted almost her whole 
society. The garrison of the castle, besides household servants, 
consisted of veterans of tried faith, the followers of Berenger and 
of De Lacy in many a bloody field, to whom the duties of watch- 
ing and warding were as familiar as any of their more ordinary 
occupations, and whose courage, nevertheless, tempered by age 
and experience, was not likely to engage in any rash adventure 
or accidental quarrel. These men mamtained a constant and 
watchful guard, commanded by the steward, but under the eye 
of Father Aldrovand, who, beudes discharging his ecclesiastiaU 
functions, was at times pleased to shew some sparkles of his 
andent military education. 

Whilst this garrison afforded security against any sudden 
attempt on the part of the Welsh to surprise the castle, a strong 
body of forces were disposed within a few miles of the Ghurde 
Doloureuse, ready, on the least alarm, to advance to defend the 
place against any more numerous body of invaders, who, unde- 
terred by the fate of Gwenwyn, might have the hardihood to 
form a regular siege. To this band, which, under the eye of 
Damian de Lacy himself, was kept in constant readiness for 
action, could be added on occasion all the military force of the 
Marches, comprising numerous bodies of Flemings, and other 
fomgners, who held their establishments by military tenure. 

While tlie fortress was thus secure from hostile violence, the 
life of its inmates was so unvaried and simple, as might have 
excused youth and beauty for wishing for variety, even at the 
expense of some danger. The labours of the needle were only 
relieved by a walk round the battlements, where Eveline, as she 
passed arm in arm with Rose, received a military salute from 
each sentinel in turn, or in the court-yard, where the caps and 
bonnets «f the domestics paid her the same respect which she 



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190 TALES OF THE CRUSADEI18. % 

received above from the pikes and javelins of the warders. Did 
they wish to extend their airing beyond the castle gate, it was 
not sufficient that doors and bridges were to be opened and 
lowered ; there was, besides, an escort to get under arms, who, 
on foot or horseback as the case might re^re, attended for the 
security of the Lady Eveline's person. Without this military 
attendance they could not in safety move even so far as the 
mills, where honest Wilkin Flammock, his warlike deeds for- 
gotten, was occupied with his mechanical labours. But if a far- 
tiier disport was mtended, and the Lady of the Garde Doloureuse 
proposed to hunt or hawk fpr a few hours, her safety was not 
confided to a guard so feeble as the garrison Of the castle might 
afford. It was necessary that Raoul should announce her pur- 
pose to Damian by a special messenger despatched the evening 
before, that there might be time before daybreak to scour, with 
a body of light cavalry, the region in which she intended to take 
her pleasure ; and sendnels were placed in all suspicious places 
while she continued in the field. In truth, she tried, upon one 
or two occasions, to make an excursion, wit}iout any formal 
annunciation of her intention ; but all her purposes seemed to be 
known to Damian as soon as ihey were formed, and she was no 
sooner abroad than parties of archers and spearmen from his 
camp were seen scouring the valleys, and guarding the mountain- 
pass, and Damian's own plume was usually beheld conspicuoils 
among the distant soldiers. 

The formality of these preparations so mucl^ allayed the plea- 
sure derived from the sport, that Eveline seldom resorted to 
amusement which was attended with such bustle, and put in 
motion so many persons. 

The day being worn out as it best might, in the evening Father 
Aldrovand was wont to read out of some holy legend, or from 
the homilies of some, departed saint, such passages as he deemed 
fit for the hearing of his little congelation. Sometimes also he 
read and expounded a chapter of the Holy Scripture ; but in 
such cases, the good man's attention was so strangely turned to 
the military part of the Jewish history, that he was never able 
to quit the books of Judges and of Kings, together with the 
triumphs of Judas Maccabeus ; although the manner in which he 
illustrated the victories of the children of Israel was much more 
amusing to himself than edifying to his female audience. 

Sometimes, but rarely, Rose obtained permission for a strolling 
minstrel to entertain an hour with his ditty of love and chivalr \ ; 
sometimes a pilgrim from a distant shrine, repaid by long tales 
of the wonders which he had seen in other lands, the hospitality 
which the Grarde Doloureuse afforded ; and sometimes also it 
happened, that the interest and intercession of the tiring-womati 
obtained admission for travelling merchants, or pedlars, who, at 
the risk of their lives, found profit by carrying from castle to 
castle the materials of rich dresses and female ornaments. 



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TALK I THE BETROTHED. 191 

The usual visits of mendicants, of jugglers, of travelling jesters- 
are not to be forgotten in this list of amusements ; and though hip 
nation subjected him to dose watch and observation, even the 
Wel^ bard, with his huge harp strung with horse hair, wav 
sometimes admitted to vary the uniformity of their secluded life 
But, saving such amusements, and saving also the regular 
attendance upon the religious duties at the chapel, it was impos 
sible for life to glide away in more wearisome monotony than ax 
the castle of the Grarde Doloureuse. Since the d^tSi of its brave 
owner, to whom feasting and hospitality seemed as natural as 
thoughts of honour and deeds of chivalry, the gloom of a convent 
might be s^d to have enveloped the ancient mansion of Ray- 
mond Berenger, were it not that the presence of so many armed 
warders, stalking in solemn state on the battlements, gave it 
rather the aspect of a state-prison; and the temper of the 
inhabitants gradually became infect^ by the character of their 
dwelling. 

The spirits of Eveline in particular felt a depression, which her 
naturally lively temper was quite inadequate to resist ; and . as 
her ruminations became graver, had caught ttiat calm and con- 
templative manner, which is bo often united with an ardent and 
enthusiastical temperament She meditated deeply upon the 
former accidents of her life ; nor can it be wondered that her 
thoughts repeatedly wandered back to the two several periods on 
which she had witnessed, or supposed that she had witneseed, a 
supernatural appearance. Then it was that it often seemed to 
her, as if a good and evil power strove for mastery over her 
destiny. 

Solitude is favourable to feelings of self-importance ; and it is 
when alone, and occupied only with their own thoughts, that 
fanatics have reveries, and imagined saints lose themselves in 
imaginary ecstasies. With Eveline the influence of enthusiasm 
went not such a length, yet it seemed to her as if in the vision of 
the night she saw sometimes the aspect of the Lady of the Garde 
Doloureuse, bending upon her glances of pity, comfort, and pro* 
tection; sometimes the ominous form of the Saxon castle of 
Baldringham, holding up the bloody hand as witness of the 
injuries with which she had been treated while in life, and 
menacing with revenge the descendant of her murderer. 

On awaking from such dreams, Eveline would reflect that she 
was the last branch of her house — a house to which the tutelage 
and protection of the miraculous Image, and the enmity and e^ 
influence of the revengeful Yanda, had been peculiarly attached 
for ages. It seemed to her as if she were the prize, for the dis- 
posal of which the benign saint and vindictive fiend were now to 
play their last and keenest game. 

Thus thinking, as^ experiencing little interruption of her 
meditations from any ^external circumstance of interest and * 
amosementy she became pensive^ absent* wrapt herself up in co:i- 



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192 TALES OF THB CRUSADERS. 

lempUUioiu which withdrew her attentioii from the oonvenatioii 
around her, and walked in tiie world of reality like one who is 
•till in a dream. When she thought of her engagement with the 
Constable of Chester, it was with resignation, but without a wish, 
and almost without an expectation, tluit she would be called upon 
to fulfil it. She Jiad accomplished her tow by accepting the 
£uth of her deliverer in exchange for her own ; and although she 
held herself willing tp redeem the pledge — nay, would scarce 
confess to herself the reluctance with which she thought of doing 
80 — yet it is certain that she entertained unavowed hopes that 
Our Lady of the Garde Doloureuse would not be a severe creditor ; 
but, satisfied with tlie readiness she had sliewn to accomplish her 
vow, would not insist upon her claim in its full rigour. It would 
have been the blackest ingratitude, to have wished that her gal- 
lant deliverer, whom she had so much cause to pray for, shoold 
experience any of those fatalities which in the Iloly Land so 
often changed the laurel-wreath into cypress ; but other aoddenta 
chanced, when men had been long abroad, to alter those purposes 
with which they had left home. 

A strolling minstrel, who sought the Grarde Doloureuse, had 
recited, for the amusement of the lady and household, the 
celebrated lay of tlie Count of Gleichen, who, already married in 
his own country, laid himself under so many obligations in the 
East to a Saracen princess, through whose means he achieved 
his freedom, tliat he married her^ also. The Pope and his con- 
clave were pleased to approve of the double wedlock, in a case so 
extraordinary ; and the good Count of Gleichen shared his nup- 
tial bed between two wives of equal rank, and nowsleeps between 
them under the same monument. 

The commentaries of the inmates of the castle had been various 
and discrepant upon this legend. Father Aldrovand considered 
it as altogether false, and an unworthy calunmy on the head of 
tiie church, in affirming his Holiness would countenance sach 
irreguhmty. Old Margery, with the tender-heartedness of an 
ancient nurse, wept bitterly for pity during the tale, and, never 
questioning either the power of the Pope or the propriety of his 
decision, was pleasq^ that a mode of extrication was found for a 
complication of love distresses which seemed almost inextricaUe. 
Dame Gillian declared it unreasonable, that, since a woman was 
only allowed one husband, a mail should, under any circum- 
stances, be permitted to have two wives ; while Raoul, glancing 
towards her a look of verjuice, pitied the deplorable idiocy of the 
roan who could be fool enough to avail himself of such a privi- 
lege. 

<< Peace, all the rest of you," said the Lady £veline ; ** and do 
you, my dear Rose, tell me your judgment upon the Count of 
Gleichen and his two wives.*' 

Rose blushed, and replied, << She was not much aoeiistoBMd to 
think of such matters ; but that, in her appiefaeiisiony tht wife 



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TALE I. TH£ B£TROTHED. 193 

who conM be contented with but one half of her husband's iCffec- 
dons, had never deserved to engage the slightest share of them." 

<< Thou art partly right, Rose," said Eveline ; ^ and methinka 
the European lady, when she found herself outshone by tli«> 
young and beautifiil foreign princess, would have best consulted 
her own dignity in i*esigning the place, and giving the Holy 
Father no more trouble than in annulling the marriage, tm lias 
been done in cases of more frequent occurrence." 

This she said with an air of indifference and even gaiety, 
which intimated to her faithful attendant with how little effort she 
herself could have made such a sacrifice, and served to indicate 
the state of her affections towards the Constable. But there was 
Another than the Constable on whom her thoughts turned more 
frequently, though involuntarily, than perhaps in prudence .they 
should have done. ^ 

The recollections of Damian de Lacy had not been erased 
from Eveline's mind. They were, indeed, renewed by hearing 
his name so often mentioned, and by knowing that he was 
almost constantly in the neighbourhood, with his whole attention 
fixed upon her convenience, interest, and safety ; whilst, on the 
other hand, so far from waiting on her in person, he never even, 
attempted, by a direct communication with herself, to Consult her 
pleasure, even upon what most concerned her. 

The messages conveyed b^ Father Aldrovand, or by Rose, to 
Amelot, Damian's page, while they gave an air of formality to 
their intercourse, which Eveline thought unnecessary, and even 
unkind, yet served to fix her attention upon the connection be- 
tween them, and to keep it ever present to her memory. The 
remark by which Rose had vindicated the distance observed by 
her youthful guardian, sometimes arose ^ her recollection ; and 
while her soul repelled with scorn the suspicion, that, in any ca^^, 
his presence^ whether at intervals or constantly, could he pre- 
judicial to his nucleus interest, she conjured up varums arguments 
for giving him a frequent place in her memory. — Was it not her 
duty to think of Damian often and kindly, as the Constable's 
nearest, best beloved, and most trusted relative 1 — Was he not 
her former deliverer and her present guardian I — And might 
he not be considered as an instrument specially employed by her 
divine patroness, in rendering effectual the protection with which 
^he had graced her in more than one emergency I 

Eveline's mind mutinied against the restrictions which were 
laid on their intercourse, as against something which inferred 
suspicion and degradation, like the compelled seclusion to which 
she had heard the Paynim infidels of the East subjected their 
■ females. Why should she see her guardian only in the benefits 
which he conferred upon her, and the cares he took for her 
safety, and hear his sentiments only by the month of others, as if 
one of them had been infected with the plague, or some otlier 
&tal or infectious disoinier, which miglit render their meeting 

VOL. XIX. N 



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194 TALEB OF THE CBUSABEIUU 

dangerous to the other! — Aud if ihey did meet 0ce«8loiia]l3f^ 
what else coidd be the consequenoe^ save that the oare <^ • 
brother towards a sister — of a trusty and kind guardian to the 
betrothed bride of his near relative and honoured patron, migbl 
render the melancholy seclusion of the Graurde Dolooreu^ more 
eusy to be endured by one so young in years, and, though de- 
jected by present circumstances, naturally so gay in temper t 

Yet, ihough this train of reasoning appeared to Eyeline, when 
tracing it in her own mind, so odndusiTe, that she seTeral times 
resotved to communicate her vjlew of the case to Rose Flummock, 
it so chanced that, whenever she looked on the cahn eteady bhie 
eye of the Flemish maiden,^ and remembered that her unblemished 
faith was mixed with a sincerity aud plain dealing proof a^^ainsti 
evo^ consideration, she £»ared lest she might be subjeeted m the 
opimon of her attendant to suspicions from which her own mind 
&eed her ; and her proud Norman aphst revolted, at the idea of 
bein^ obliged to justify iierself to aiM>ther,.when she st09d self-r 
acquitted to her own mind. ^ Let things be as they are," she 
said ; ^ and let us endure all the weariness of a life which might 
be so easily rendered more cheerful, rather than that this aealoua 
but punctilious friend should, in the atrictness and nicety of her 
feelings on my account, ctmceive me capable of encouraging ao 
intercourse which could lead to a less worthy tho^ht of me in 
tlie mind of the most scrupulous of man^— or of womankind.** 
But even this vacillation of opiniuoand resolution tended to bring 
the image of the handsome young Damian more frequently -befere 
the Lady Eveline's fam^y, than perhaps his uncle, had he knowa 
it, would altogether have approved of. In such reflections, how* 
ever, she never indulged long, ere a sense of the singular destiny 
which had hitherto attended her, led her back into the more 
melancho^ contemplations from which the bueyaney of her 
youthful fancy had for a abort time emancipated her. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

I 

— Ounb thedcie, 
'Where at what fowl we pleue our hawk ahsH (lie. ' 

One bright September morning, old Raoul was bo^y in the 
mews where he kept his hawks, grumbUng all the whUe to him- 
sulf as he surveyed the condition of eaish bird, and blaming 
alternately the carelessness of the under^ialooner, and the situa- 
tion of the building, and the weather, and the wind, and all things 
ai'ound him, for the dilapidation which time and disease had made 
in the neglected hawking estabhshment of the Garde Dokrareuae. 
While in these unpleasing meditations, he was surprised by the 
yt>ice of his beloved Dame Gillian, who seldom was an early^riser, 
%nd yet more rai-ely visited him when he was in his sphere of 



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TA.LE T. THK BETKOTHUD. 199 

peculiar iratlMnty. << Raoiil, Raoid ! where art tiioa, man f — 
£ver to seek for, ii4ieii thou canst make anght of advantage for 
thyself <r me i" 

** And what waat*st thou, dame 1" said Raoul, * what means 
thj screaming worse than the sea-gull before wet weather ! A 
murrain on thy Toice ! it is enough to fray erery hawk from the 
perch." 

'^ Hawk !" answered Dame GiJtian ; ^ it is time to be looking 
for hawks, when here is a oast of the brsFest falcons come hither 
for sale, thaft ever flew by lake, tarook, or meadow I** 

" Kites ! like her that brings the news," said Raoul. 

** No, nor kestrils like him that hears it," replied Gillian ; ^ but 
bra>T« jerfaloons, with laige nares, strongly armed, and beaks 
sbort and something bluish -*-*^-'^ 

** Pshaw, with thy jargon ! -^ Where came they from t" aaid 
Baoul, interested in the t^ngs, but unwilling to giine his wife the 
satisfaction of seeing tliat he was so. 

« From the Isle of Man," replied <SilliaB. 

** They must be good, then, though it waa a woman farout^ht 
tidings of them," said Raoul, smiling grimly at his own wit ; then, 
laaTittg the mews, he demamkd to imaw where this famous &ioon- 
merchant was to be mei witfasL 

^ Why, between the barriers and liw inner gate," r^ied Gillian, 
*^ wherovother men are admitted that hai^ wares to utter — Where 
flhould he be I" 

^ And who let him in f " demanded the suspicious RaooL 

<< Why, Master Steward, thon owl 1" siOd Gillian; '< he eame 
hut now to my c||«mb«r, and eent me hither to oaU you." 

** Oh, the stewaDdr— the atemard^t,-! mighthave guessed as much. 
And he came to thy chamber, doubtless, because he could not 
^inre as easily eome hither to me himielfl--^ Was it ndt so, sweet- 
heart!" 

** I do not know why he chose to come to me rather thao to 
jooy Raoul,'' said GUhan ; *<and if I did know, perhaps I would 
not iett jam. Go to^^nuss your bargain, or make your bargain, 
I care not which — the man will net wait for you ^- he has good 
I from the Seneschal of Malpas, and the Welsh Lord of 



. ^i eonC'^I oone," Aid Raoul, who feH the necessity of 
embracing this (^portanitj ef improving his hawking establish- 
ment, and hastened to the gate, where he met the merchant, 
attended by a servant, who kept in separate cages the three 
fiUcons which he ofifeiwd for sale. 

The first glance satisfied Raoul that they were of the best breed 
m Eorope, and that, if their eduoatioh were in correspondenee to 
their race, there could scarce be a more valuable ad^tion even to 
a royal m»«e. The merchant did not fail to enlarge upon all 
their points of excellence ; the breadth of their shmild^ra, the 
ptrengtli of thejr train, their full and fierce dark eyes, the boid- 



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196 TALES OP THE CRUSADERS. 

ness with which tbey endured tde ftpproaeh oi strangers, an^ ihB^' 
lively spirit .uid vigour with which they prOned £eir plumes, 
aud shook, or, as it was technically termed, roused themselves. 
He expatiated on the difficulty and danger with whidi they were 
obtained from the rock of Ramsey, on which they were bred, and 
which was an eyry unrivalled even on the coast of Norway. 

Raoul turned apparently a deaf ear to all these commenda« 
tions. ^ Friend merchant,*' said he, *' I know a falcon as well as 
thou dost, and I will not deny that thine are fine ones ; bat if 
they be not carefully trained and reclaimed, I would rather have 
a goss-hawk on my perch than the fairest falcon that ever stretcht^ 
wing to weather." 

" I grant ye," said the merchant ; ** but if we agree on the price, 
for that is the main matter, thou shalt see th^ birds fly if thou 
wilt, and then buy them or not as thou likest. I am no true 
merchant if thou ever saw'st birds beat them, whether at tlicr 
mount oif the stoop." 

<< That I call fair," said Baonl, << if the price be equally so." 

** It shall be corresponding," said the hawk-merchant ; '* for I 
have brought six casts from the island, by the good favour of 
good King Reginald of Man, and I have sold every feather of 
them save these ; and so, having en4»tied my cages and filled my 
purse, I desire not to be troubleid longer wi&i the residue ; and if 
a good fellow, and a judge, as thou seemest to be, should like the 
hawks when he has seen them fly, he shall have the price of hia 
own making." 

^ Go to," said Raoul, ** we will have no blind bargains; my lady, 
if tlie hawks be suitable, is more able to pay fof £em than thou 
to give them away. Will a bezant be a conformable price for the 
cast!" 

^ A bezant. Master Falconer I — By my faith, you are no 
bold bodesman ! nevertheless, double your offer, and I will con-« 
sider it." 

<< If the hawks are well recliumed," said Raoul, ** I will givB, 
you a bezant and a half ; but 1 will see them strike a heron ere I 
will be so rash as cleal with you." 

^ It is well," said the merchant, ^ and I had better take your 
offer than be longer cumbered with them ; for were I to carry 
them into Wales, I might get pud in a worse fashion by some of 
their long knives. — Will you to horse presently I" 

^ Assuredly," said Raoul ; << and, though March be the fitt^ 
month for hawking at the heron, vet I wiU shew you one of these 
frogpeekers for the trouble of ridmg the matter of a mile by the 
water side." 

** Content, Sir Falconer," said the mo^hant. *' But Kte we 
to go alone, or is there no lord or lady in the castle who would 
take pleasure to see a piece of game gallantly struck ! I am not 
afraid to shew these hawks to a countess." 

^ My lady used to love the sport well enoagh«" said Raoul s 



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TALE 1. THE BBTBOTHED. 197 

* hoi I wot not why, she is moped and maeed eTer since her 
fkiher's death, and lives in her fair castle Uke a nun in a cloister, 
without disport or revelry of any kind. Nevertheless, Gillian, 
thou canst do something with her — good now, do a kind deed for 
once, and move her to come out and look on this moming^s sport 
*->the poor heart hath seen no pastime this summer." 

^That I will do/' quoth Gillian; **and, moreover, I will 
shew her such a new nding-tire for the head, that no woman 
bom ooukl ever look at without the wish to toss it a littld in the 
wind." 

As Gillian spoke, it kppeared to her jealous-pated husband that 
he surprised a glance of more intelligence exchanged betwixt her 
and the trader than brief acquaintance seemed to warrant, even 
when allowanee was made for the extreme frankness of Dame 
GriUian's disposition. He thought also, that, on looking more 
closely at the merchant, his lineaments were not totally unknown 
to him ; and proceeded to say to him dryly, ** We have met 
before, friend, but I cannot call to remembrance where." 

^ Like enough," said the merchant ; *< I have used this country 
elten, and may have taken money of you in the way of trade. If 
I were in fitting place, I would gladly bestow a pottle of wine to 
<mr better acquaintance." 

<< Not so fast, friend," said the old huntsman ; ^ ere I drink to 
better acquaintance with any one, I must be well pleased with 
what I already know of him. We will see thy hawks fly, and if 
tiieir breeding match thy bragging, we may perhaps crush a cup 
together. — And here come grooms and equerries, in faith — my 
lady has consented to come forth." 

The opportunity of seeing diis rural pastime had offered itself 
to Eveline, at a time when me delightful brilliancy of the day, the 
'temperance of the air, and the joyous work of harvest, proceeding 
in every direction around, made the temptation to exercise almost 
kresisdble. 

- As they proposed to go no farther than the side of the neigh- 
bouring river, near the fatal bridge, over which a small guard of 
BifBtntry was constantly maintained, Eveline dispensed with any 
&rther escort, and, contrary to the custom of the castle, took uo 
one in her train save Rose and Gillian, and one or two servants, 
who led spaniels, or carried appurtenances of the chase. Raoul, 
the merchant, and an e<|uerry, attended her of course, each 
hdding a hawk on his wnst, and anxiously adjusting the mode 
in which they should throw them off, so as best to ascertain tlie 
extent of their powers and training. 

When these iroporti^nt points had been adjusted, the party rode 
down the river, carefully looking on every side for the object of 
their game ; but no heron was seen stalking on the usual haunts 
ef the bird, although there was a heronry at no great distance. 

Few disappointments of a small nature are more teasing than 
|faa» of a sportsman, who, having set out with all means and 



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I9i tAiAB» OP THE CRUS-ADBML 

kpf InMievB for destruction of game, finds that titer* id none l» le 
met with ; becavse lie eeneeives himnelf, with kis full shootiug 
trim Mid his emptf garner-pouchy to be subjected to the fmeer ni 
every paaeiBg rusiie. The party of the Lady £veliiie lieh ali titer 
degradation of sueh diaappointmeDt. 

** A fair coeotry this," said the nerchant, ^ where^ od two 
mifos of rirer, you cannot find one poor heron I" 

^ It is the clatter thoee d — d Flemings make with their water- 
imlls and futtiBg-mills," said Raoul ; ^ they destroy good sport 
and good company wherever they come. But were my lady 
V illing to ride a mile or so leather to the Red Pool, I could sliew 
yon a long-shaaked fellow who would make your hawks eaneeliei^ 
till their brains were giddy." 

*< The Red Pool !" said Rose ; ** thou knoweet it is iMfe than 
three milep beyond the bridge, and lies «p towards the bills*" 

" Ay, ay," said Raoul, " an^ier Flemish freak to spoH pan* 
time ! They are not so scarce on the Mareliea these Flemisli 
wenches, that they sheuM fear beiag hawked at by Welsh hag^ 
^ards.** 

** Raoul is right. Rose," aoswored Ev^rime ; ^ it is abend to be 
looped up like birds in a cage, when all around us has bea» so 
unifoimly quiet. I am determined io break out of bounds (or 
x>nee, and see sport in our old fashion, without bang surrounded 
with armed men like prisoners of state. We will merrily to the 
Red Pool, wench, and kill a heron like free maida of the Marehea.'' 
' ** Let me but tc^ my liMkher, at least, to mount and follow usy*' 
said Roee-^f<nr they were noW near the re-estabUshed maiM»- 
lacturing houses of iLe stout Flenung; 

^ 1 care not if thou dost, Rose," aid Eveline ; ^ yet credit me, 
girl, we will be at the Red Pool, and thus* faf on our way home 
again,' ere thy father has donned his best doublet, girded oo Imb 
two-handed sword, and aecouti^ his strong Flanderidn dephnmt 
of a horse, which he judiciously names Sloth — nay, iromjt not, 
and lose not, in rastifying thy fatlier, the time that may be better 
si)ent in calUng him out." 

Rose rede to the mills accordingly, w4ien Wilkin Fkmmieek,,a* 
the command of his hego mistareeB, readily hastened to gei las 
steel cap and habergeon, and ordered half-a-doaen of his kiwmeB 
and servants to get on horseback. Rose remained with htm, to 
urge him to more despatch than his methodieal dispositioB ren- 
dered natural to him ; but in spite of all her efibrts to stimulate 
him, the Lady Eveline had paraed the bridge mure than half an 
hour ere her escort was prepared to follow her. 

Meanwhile, apprehensive of no evil, and riding fP^y <^» ^^ 
the sensation of one escaped from confinement, Evelme moved 
' forward on her lively jennet, as light as a lark ; the plumes with 
which ,I>ame Gillian had decked her riding-bonnet dautcing in tbe 
wind, and her attendants galloping behind her, with dogs, pouches, 
*kaed| and all other appurt^umeeaof the royal sport dt hawking. 



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tALE I. THE BETROTH «tf. 199 

Alter passfng ,tiie river, the wild g;reen8ward pttOk which they 
poTBcled began to wind upward among small eminences, some- 
times bare and craggy, sometimes overgrown with hazel, sloe^ 
thorn, and other dwaif dimbs, and at length suddenly de^^cending, 
broQ^t them to the verge of a moantain rivulet, that, Kke a lamb 
at p&y, leapt merrily from rock to roclc, seemingly uncertain 
which way to run. 

" This Kttle stream was always my favourite, Danfe Gillian,* 
Bud Evdine, ^ and now methinks it teaps the lighter that it sees 
me again.** 

** Ah r lady," said Dame Gillian, whose turn for conversation 
taever extent^ in such cases beyond a few phrases of gross flat* 
tery, <* many a fair knight would leap shoulder-height for leave 
to look on you as ftree as the brook may I more espedally now 
that yon have donned that riding-cap, which, in exquisite deli- 
teaey of invention, methinks is a bowshot before aught that I ever 
invented —What thinkes^ thou, Raonl f* 

** I think,** answered heh well-natured helpmate, ** that women's 
tongues were contrived to drive all the game out of the country. 
— Here we come near to the spot wherer we hope to speed, or 
no where ; wherefore, pray, my sweet lady, be silent yourself, and 
keep your followers as much so as their natures will permit^ while 
we steat along lAie bank of ^e pool, under the wind, with our 
hawks* hoods cast loose, all ready for a flight.** 

As he spoke, they advanced' about a nundred yards up the 
brawling stream, until the little vale through which it flowed, 
making a very sudden turn to one side, shewed them the Red 
Pool, tiie supfMrfhious water of which formed the rivulet itself. 

This monntain-Iake, or tarn, as it is called in some countries^ 
was a deep basin of about a mile m circumference, but rather 
oblong than circular. On the side next to our falconers arose a 
ridge of rock, of a dark red hue, giving name to the pool, which, 
reflecting this massive and dusky barrier, appeared to partake of 
its colour. On the opposite sicte was a heathy hill, whose autumnal 
bloom had not yet faded from purple to russet ; its surface was 
Varied by the dark green furze and the f^m, and in many places 
gray clifls, or IVK>8e stones of the same colour, formed a contrast 
to the ruddy precipice to which they lay opposed. A natural 
road of beautiful sand was forined by a beach, which, extending 
all tile way around the lake, separated its waters from the pre- 
cipitous rock on the one hand, and on the other firom the steep 
and broken hilt ; and being no where less than five or six yards 
in breadth, and in most places greatly more, offered around its 
whole circuit a tempting opportunity to the rider, who desired to 
exercise and breathe the horse on which he was mounted. The 
verge of the pqol on the rocky side was here and there strewed 
with fragments of large size, detached from the precipice above, 
but not in such quantity as to encumber this pleasant horse- 
course. Many of these rocky masses, having passed the raargilt 



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200 TALIS OF THE CffUSADBBS. 

of the water in their fall, lay immersed there like small isleti; 
and, placed amongst a little archipelago, the quick eye of Raool 
detected the heron which they were in search of. 

A moment!s consultation was held to consider in what manner 
they should approach the sad and solitary bird, which, unconscious 
tliat itself was the object of a formidable ambuscade, stood 
motionless on a stone, by the brink of the lake, watching for such 
small fish or water-reptiles as might chance to pass by its lonely 
station. A brief debate took place betwixt Raoul and the hawk- 
merchant on the best mode of starting the quarry, so as to allow 
Lady Eveline and her attendants the most perfect view o^ the 
flight. The faciUty of killing the heron at ihefarjetUe or at the 
jeUee/erri — that is, upon the hither or farther side of the pool — 
was anxiously debated in language of breathless importance, as 
if some great and perilous enterprise was about to be executed. 

At length the arrangements were fixed, and the party began 
to advance towards the aquatic hermit, who, by this time aware 
of their approach, drew himself up to his full height, erected his 
long lean neck, spread his broad fan-like wings, uttered his usual 
clanging cry, and, projecting his length of thin legs far behind 
him, rose upon the gentle breeze. It was then, with a loud 
whoop of encouragement, that the merchant threw ofi* the noble 
hawk he bore, having first unhooded her to give her a view of 
her quarry. 

Ei^ger as a frigate in chase of some rich galleon, darted the 
falcon towards the enemy, which she had been taught to pursue ; 
while, preparing for defence, if he should be unable to escape by 
flight, the heron exerted all his powers of speed to escape from 
an enemy^so formidable. Plying his almost unequalled strength 
of wing, he ascended high and higher in the air, by short g^- 
tiona, that the hawk mi^t gain po vantage ground for pouncing 
at him ; while his spiked beak, at the extremity of so long a neck 
as enabled him to strike an object at a yard's distance in every 
direction, possessed for any less spirited assailant all Uie terrors 
of a Moorish javelin. 

Another hawk was now thrown off, and encouraged by the 
lialloos of the falconer to join her companion. Both kept 
mounting, or scaling the air, as it were, by a succession of small 
circles, endeavouring to gain that superior height which the 
heron on his part was bent to preserve; and to the exquisite 
delight of the spectators, the contest was continued until all three 
were well-nigh mingled with the fleecy clouds, from which waa 
occasionally heard 3ie harsh and plaintive cry of the quarry, 
appealing as it were to the heaven which he was approaching, 
against the wanton cruelty of those by whom he was persecuted. 

At length one of the falcons had reached a pitch from which 
she ventured to stoop at the heron ; but so judiciously did the 
quarry maintain his defence, as to receive on his beak the str«>ke 
which the falcon, shooting down at full descent, had made 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 201 

agninst his right wing ; bo that one of his enemies, spiked through 
tlie body by his own weight, fell fluttering into the lake, very 
near the land, on the side farthest irom the &locmerB, and 
perislied there. 

*^ There goes a gallant falcon to the fishes," said Raoul. 
** Merchant, thy cake is dough." 

Even as he spc^e, however, the remaining bird, had avenged 
the £ftte of her sister ; for the success which the heron met with 
on one side, did not prevent his being assailed on the other wing ; 
and the falcon stooping boldly, and grappling with, or, as it is 
called in falconry, biwiing his prey, both came tumblhig down 
together, from a great height in the air. It was then no small 
object on the part of the falconers to come in as soon as possible, 
lest the falcon should receive hurt from the beak or talons of the 
heron ; and the whole party, the men setting spurs, and the 
females switching their palfreys, went off like the wind, sweeping 
along the fair and smooth beach betwixt the rock and the water. 

Lady Eveline, far better mounted than any of her train, her 
^irits elated by the sporty and by the speed at which she moved, 
was much sooner than any of her attendants at the spot where 
the £ftlcon and heron, still engaged in their mortal struggle, lay 
fighting upon the moss*; the wing of the latter havifig be^n 
broken by the stoop of the former. The duty of a Sooner in 
such a crisis was to run in and assist the hawk, by thrusting the 
heron's bill into the earth, and breaking his legs, and thus per- 
mitting the falcon to despatch him on easy terms. 

Neimer would the sex nor quality of the Lady Eveline have 
excused her becoming second to the falcon in this cruel manner ; 
but, just as she had dismounted for that purpose, she was sur- 
prised to find herself seized on by a wild form, who exclaimed in 
Welsh, that he seized her as a waif, for hawking on the demesnes 
of Dawfyd with the one eye. At the same time many other 
Welshmen, to the number of more than a score, shewed them- 
eelves from behind crags and bushes, all armed at point with the 
axes called Welsh hooks, long knives, darts, and bows and 
arrows^ 

Evehne screamed to her attendants for assistance, and at the 
same time made use of what Welsh phrases she possessed, to ' 
move the fears or excite the compassion of the outlawed moun- 
taineers; for she doubted not that she had fallen under the power 
of such a party. When she found her requests were unheeded, 
and she perceived it was their purpose to detain her prisoner, 
she disdained to use farther entreaties, but demanded at their 
peril that they should treat her with respect, promising in that 
case that she would pay them a large ransom, and threatening 
tJiem with the vengeance of the Lords Marchers, Ind particularly 
■of Sir Damian de Lacy, if they ventured to use her otherwise. 

The men seemed to understand her, and although they pro- 
.ceeded to tie a banda^ie over her eyes, and to bind her arms with 



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202 TALES OP THB CBU8ADER9. 

Iter oWn v«il, yet they obserred in these aeto of violence a certain 
delicacy and atleati<>ii both to her feelings and her safety, which 
led her t» hope that her re^nest bad Iwd some effect on them. 
They secured hereto the saddle of her palfrey, and led her away 
with th^at thirooghi thai recesses of the hiUs ; while she had the 
additional distress to hear behind her tiie noise of a conflict, 
•ceaMOD^ by the ikuitleai effarts of her retinue to procure her 



Aj»t9BiBhn««nt had at first seiaed tl^ hawking party, wheu 
they saw from seme distance their sport interrupted by a TioWnt 
assault en. thdr ■liatresB. Old Raoul valiantly put spurs to his 
horsey and calling on the rest to follow him to the rescue, rode 
furioiisly towards the banditti ; but, having no other arms save a 
Iiawking-peie and short sword^ he and those who foUowed him in 
his meritorious but ineffectual attempt were easily foiled^ and 
Raoul and one or two of th» foren^st severely beaten ; the ban- 
ditti exercising upon tiiem their own poles till they were broken 
to splinters, bat generouBly abstaining foom the use of more 
dangerous weapons. The rest of the retinue, completely discou- 
raged, dispersed to give the alarm, and the merchant and Dame 
Gillian remained by the lake^ filling the air with shrieka of 
useless fear and sorrow. The omdaws, meanwhile^ drawing 
together in a body, shot a few arrows at the fugitives, but more 
to alarm than to injure them, and then marched off in a body, as 
if to cover thdr companioDft who had gone before^ with the 
Lady Eveline in their custody. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

Four raffiam Kisetf me yetter mom— 
Alas ! a maid«n most foriern ! 
They choked my cries wich wicked might 
And bound me on a palfrey white. 

' COLBlODeB. 

Such adventures as are now only recorded in works of mere 
fiction, were sot wioomnen in the feudal ages, when might was 
so universally superior to right ; and it followed that those whose 
condition exposed them to ^quent violence, were more prompt 
in repelling, and more patient in enduring it, than could other- 
wise have been expected from their sex and age. 

The Lady Evehne felt that she was a prisoner, nor was she 
devoid of fears concerning the purposed of this assault ; but she 
suffered neither her alarm, nor the violence with whicb she was 
hurried along, to deprive her of the power of observing and re- 
flecting. From the noise of hoofe which now increased around, 
she concluded that the greater part of the ruffians by whom she 
bad been sei2sed had betaken themselves to thehr horses. This 
she knew was consonant to the practice oi* the Wdah maraudera^ - 



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TJkhE I. THE BETROTHMl. fiOS 

"wlie^ altiiovgk the snuiU size and slightnei^ of iSt^ nags made 
them totaUj unfit for ecrvioe in battle^ availed tbemeelves of 
their activity and aureneis of foot to^ trandport them with the 
necessary celerity to and frow the scenes ef their rapise ; ensnring 
thus a rapid and unpercei ved approach, and a aecnie and speedy 
retreat. These amioala traversed without difficulty, and beneath 
:the IcMul of a heavy soldier, the wild mountsin-paths by which 
the country was intersected, and in-one ot winch Lady EveKiie 
Berenger eonehided she was now engaged, from the maMier in 
which hex own palfrey, supported by a man on foot at either 
rein, SBomed new to labour up some precipice, and anon to 
4e6oend with stiU greater risk on the other side. ^ 

At one of those moments, a voice whieh she had not y«t dis* 
tinguiflhed addressed her ia, the Anglo-Norman language^ and 
asked, with apparent interest, if she sat safely on her saddle, 
offering at the same time to have her accoutrements altered at 
her pl^Mure and convenience. 

** Insult not my condition with the mention of safety," said 
Eveline ; ^ you may well believ^ that I hold my safety altogether 
irreconcilable with these deeds of violence. If I or my vassals 
have done injury to any of the Cymry,* let me know, and it shult 
be amended <-- If ic is ransom which you desire, name the sum, 
and I will send an order to treat for it ; but detain me not pri- 
soner, for that can but injure me, and will avail you nothing.*' 

^ l^e Lady Eveline," answered the voice, still in a Ume of 
courtesy inconsistent with the violence which she sustained, 
*< will speedily find that ear actiofia are more rough than our 
purposes." 

'* If you know who I am," said Eveline^, ^ yo« cannot doubt 
that this atrocity will be avenged-— you must know by whose 
banner my lands are at present protected*" 

** Under De Lacy's," answered the voice, with a tone of indif^ 
ference. ^ Be it so — falcons fear not &Icons." 

At this moment there was a halt, and aconfused murmur arose 
amongst those arotknd her, wha had hitherto been silent, unless 
when muttering to ei^ch other in Welsh, and as briefly as possible, 
directions whidi way to hold, or encouragement to use haste. 

These murmurs ceased, and there was a pause ot several 
minutes ; at length Eveline again heard the voice which formei^ 
addressed her, giving directions which she could not understand. 
He then spoke to herself, *^ You will presently see," he said, 
^ whether I have spoken truly, when I said I scorned the ties by 
which you are fettered. But you are at once the cause of strife 
and the reward of victory — your safety must be oared for as 
time will admit ; and, strange as the mode of protection is to 
which we are to intrust you, I trust the victor in tiie approaching 
struggle will find you uninjured." 

^ I^ not, for the sake of the Blessed Virgin, let there be strife 
^ CymbrU or Welali. 



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204 TALES OF THB CRUSADERfiT. 

and bloodshed V* said EToline ; ^ rather unbind my e^es, and let 
me speak to those whose approadi you dread. If fhends, as it 
would seem to me, I will be the means of peace between you." 

** I despise peace," replied the speaker. ** I hare not under- 
taken a resolute and daring adventure, to resign it as a child doth 
his play-thing, at the first frown of fortune. Please to alight^ 
noble lady ; or rather be not offended that I thus lift you from 
the seat, and pUoe you on the greensward." 

As he spoke, Eveline felt herself lifted froih her palfrey, and 
placed carefully and safely on the ground, in a sitting posture. A 
moment after, the same peremptory valet who had aided her to 
dismount disrobed her of her cap, the masterpiece of Dame Gil- 
lian, ancTof her upper mantle. ^' I must yet farther require you/' 
said the bandit leader, ^ to creep on hands and knees into this 
narrow aperture. BeUeve me, I regret the nature of the singular 
fortification to which I conmiit your person for safety." 

Eveline crept forwards as directed, conceiving resistance to be 
of no avail, and thinking that compliance with me request of one 
who spoke like a person of consequence, might find her protection 
against the unbridled fury of the Welch to whom she was ob- 
noxious, as being the cause of Gwenwyn's death, and the defeat of- 
the Britons under the walls of the Garde Doloureuse. 

She crept then forwards through a narrow and damp passage, 
built on either side with rough stones, and so low that she could 
not have entered it in any other posture. • When she had pra- 
eeeded about two or three yards, me passage opened into a con- 
cavity or apartment, high enough to permit her to sit at her ease, 
and of irregular, but narrow, dimensions. At the same time 
she became sensible, from the noise which she heard behind her, 
that the ruffians were stopping up the passage by which she 
had been thus introduced into the bowels of the earth. She could 
distinctly hear the clattering of stone with^idiich they dosed 
the entrance, and she became sensible that the current of fresh 
air, which had rushed through the opening, was gradually failing, 
and that the atmosphere of the subterranean' apartment became 
yet more damp, earthy, and oppressive, than at first. 

At this moment came a distant sound from without, in which 
Eveline thought she could distinguish cries, blows, the trampling 
of horse, the oaths, shouts, and screams of the combatants, but 
all deadened by the rude walls of her prison, into a confused 
hollow murmur, conveying such intelligence to. her ears as we 
may suppose the dead to hear from th^ world tliey have quitted. 

Influenced by desperation, under circumstances so dreadful, 
Eveline struggled for liberty with such frantic energy, that she 
partly effect^ her purpose by forcing her arms from the bonds 
wliich confined them. But this only convinced her of the impos- 
sibilit)' to escape ; for, rending off the veil which wrapt her head, 
bhe found herself in total darkness, and flinging her arms hastily 
around her, she discovered she was cooped up in a subterranean 



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Tale i. the betrothed. 205 

cftTern, of very narrow dimensions. Her hands, which groped 
around, encoantered only pieces of decayed metal, and a snbKtance 
which, at another moment, would have made her shudder, being, 
in truth, the mouldering bones of the dead. At present, not even 
this circumstance could add to her fears, immured as she seemed 
to be, to perish by a strange and subterranean death, while her 
finends and deUTcrers were probably within a few yards of her. 
She flung her arms wildly around in search of some avenue of 
escape, but every effort she made for liberating herself from . 
the ponderous curcumvallation, was as ineffectuiU as if directed 
against the dome of a cathedral. 

The noise by which her ears were at first assailed increased 
rapidly, and at one moment it seemed as if the covering of the 
vault under which she lay sounded repeatedly to blows, or the 
shock of substances which had fallen, or been thrown, against it. 
It was impossible that a human brain could have withstood tliese 
terrors, operating upon it so inmiediately ; but happily this ex- 
tremity lasted not long. Sounds, more hollow, and dying away 
in distance, argued that one^ or other of the parties had retreated*; 
and at length all was silent. 

Eveline was now left to the undisturbed contemphition of her 
own disastrous situation. The fight was over, and, as circum- 
stances led hei* to infer, her own friends were conquerors ; for 
otherwise the victor would have relieved her from her place of 
confinement, and carried her away captive with him, as his words 
had menaced. But what could the success of her faithful friends 
and followers avail Eveline, who, pent up under a place of con- 
cealment which, whatever was its character, must have escaped 
their observation, was left on the field of battle, to become again 
the prize of the enemy, should their band venture to return, or 
die in darkness and privation, a death as horrid as ever tyrant 
invented, or martyr underwent, and which the unfortunate young 
hdy could not even bear to think of without a prayer that her 
agony might at least be shortened. 

In this hour of dread she recollected the poniard which she 
wore, and the dark thought crossed her mind, that, when life 
became hopeless, a speedy death was at least within her reach. 
As her soul shuddered at so dreadful an alternative, the question 
suddenly occurred, might not this weapon be put to a more hal- 
lowed use, and aid her emancipation, instead of abridging her 
sufferings I 

This hope once adopted, the daughter of Raymond B«»nger 
hastened to prove tlie experiment, and by repeated efforts suc- 
ceeded, though with 'difficulty, in changing her posture, so as to 
admit of her mspecting her place of confinement all around, but 
|iarticularly the passage by which she had entered, and by which 
she now attempted again to return to the light of diay. She crept 
to the extremity, and found it, as slie expected, strongly blocked 
up with Urge stones and eartli, rammed together iu sudi a man- 



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206 TAXES OF THE CRUSADBH0* 

tier aR Marly to extiBgnisb all hope of escape. The work, hown 
ever, had been hastily performed, and life and liberty were prisefi. 
to stimulate exertion. With b^ poniard she cleared away tlie 
earth aad sods — with her hapds, little apeustomed to soeh labour, 
she remoTed several atones, and advanced in her task so lar aa to 
obtain a glimmering of light, and, what was scarce less precious, a 
supply of purer air. Bti^ at the same time, she had the misfor* 
tune to ascertain, that, £pom the eise and maastveness of a huge 
stoue which doeed the extremity of the passage^ there was nq 
hope that her uaasflisted strength could effact her extrication* 
Yet her condition was improved by the admission of air aD4 
lif^t, as well as by the ^periunity afforded of calling oat for 
assistance. 

Such criei^ mdeed, weee for some time uttered ki vain — the 
field had probably been left to the dead and the dying ; for low 
and indistinct groans were the only aaswer which slw received 
for several minutes. At isngth, as she repeated her exclamation^ 
a voice, faint aa that of ene Juat awakened from a swoon, pro* 
noimeed these words in answer: — ''fidris of the Ear&en 
Houne, dost thou call from thy tomb to the wretch who jus^ 
hastens to his ewn !^-* Are the houndaries broken down which 
connect me with the living!^ And de I already hear, with 
fleshly ears, the faint and screaming aecMits of the dead f" 

*< It is no spirit who speaks,'' replied Eteline, overjoyed al 
finding she could at least communicate her exiitoDce to a living 
person — *^no spirit, but a most unhappy maiden, Evelina 
Berenger by name, immured beneath this dark vault, and In 
danger to perish horribly, unless Gpod send me rescue !" 

^Eveline Berenger I'* exclaimed he whom she addressed, in the 
accents of wonder. << It is impossible !-^ I watched h^ green 
nutntle— I watched her phuny bonnet as I saw her handed from 
the field, and felt my own inability to follow to the rssoue ; nor 
did ff>ree or exertion altc^ther L^ve me tiU the waving «f the 
robe and the dancing of the feathers were lost t9 my ^yos^ nnd 
aH hope of rescuing her abandoned my heart.'* 

''Faithful vassal or right true finend, or courteous fl;traam% 
whichsoever I may name thee,'' answered Eveline, ^ know thou 
hast been abused by the artifices of these Welnh banditti-* the 
mantle and head-gear of Eveline Berenger they have indeed with 
them, and may h^e used them to mislead those true friends, who, 
hke Ihee, are anxious for my fate. Wherefore, brave sir, devis* 
some succour, if ^ thou canst, for thyself and me ; since I dread 
•that these rufBans, when they shall have escaped immediale pur- 
suit, will return hither, tike uie robber to the hoard where he has 
deposited his stolen booty.*' 

'^ Now, the Holy Virgin be praised," said the wounded roan, 
**• that I can spend the last breath of my life in thy just and 
honourable service ! I would not before blow my bugle, lesl 
I recalled from the pursuit to tlie aid of my worthless self some 



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TAL£ I. THB BETSOTHBD. S07 

of these who tDij^t he effectually engaged in thy reseoe ; may 
Hearen grant thajk the recall may now be heard, that my eyes 
May yet see the Lady Eveline in safety and hberty I** 

Hie wenb» thevgfa spoken in a feeble tone, breathed a spirit of 
enthusiasm, and were followed by the blast of a horn, faintly 
winded, to which tte answer was made save the echoing of the 
delL A eharper and louder blast was then^sent forth, but sunk 
so suddenly, that it seemed the breath of him who sounded the 
instmmeBt had failed in the effort. — A strange thought crossed - 
Eveline's mind even in that motnent of uncertainty and terror, 
<* That," she said, '^as the note of a De Lacy — surely you can« 
■0t be my gentle kinsman, Sir Damian t" 

^ I am that unhappy wretch, deserving of death for the evil 
cafe which I have taken of the treasure intrusted to me. — What 
was my buainees to trust to reports and messengers ! I should 
have worshipped the saint who was committed to my keeping, 
with snoh vigilance as avarice bestows on the dross which he calls 
trsasuro — I shouhi have rested no where, save at your gate ; out- 
watched the hr^^test stars in the horiaon ; unseen and unknown 
myself, |I should never have parted from your neighbourhood ; 
then hadiyou not been in the present danger, and — much less 
important consequence — thou, Damian de Lacy, had not filled 
the ^rave ef a forswom and negligent caitiff i" 

" Aks I noUe Damian,*' said Eveline, ^ break not my heart 
by blaming yourself for an imprudence which is altogether my 
ewn. Thy succour was ever near when I intimated the least 
want ef it ; and it imbitters my own misCortune to know that my 
rashness has been the cause of your disaster. Answer me, gentle 
kuuman, and give jne to hope that the wounds you have suffered 
are such as may be cured.' — Alas i how much of your blood have 
I seen epiMed, and what a fate is mine, that 1 should ever bring 
distress on all for whom I would most willii^y sacrifice my own 
bapp ineo s I — But do not let ns imbitter the moments given us in 
mercy, by fruitless repinings — Try what you can to stop thiue 
ebbing blood, which is so dear to England — to Eveline — and to 
thine miole." 

. Damian gproaned as she spoke, and was silent ; while, maddened 
with the idM that he might be perishing for want of aid, Eveline 
repeated her efforts to extricate herself for h«r kinsman's assis- 
tance, as well as her own. It was all in vain, and she liad Pleased 
the attempt in despair ; and, passing from one hideous subject of 
terror to another, she sat listeiiing, with sharpened ear, for the 
dying groan of Damian, when — feeling of ecstasy I — the ground 
was slwken with horses' feet advancing rapidly. Yet this joyful 
sound, if decisive of hfe, did not a88ui-e her of liberty — It might 
be the banditti of the luouutains returning to seek their captive. 
Even then they would surely allow her leave to look upon anrl 
bind up tlie wounds of Dainiau de Lacy ; for to keep him ai^ a 
captive might vantage theiu niyre in many degrees, than could 



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208 TALES OF THE CRUflADEllS. 

his death. A hoi'seman came up — Eveline invoked his asftis' 
tance, and the first word she heard was an exclamation in 
Flemish from the faithful Wilkin Fbtmmock, which nothin;^ save 
some spectacle of the most unusual kind was ever known to com- 
pel from that phlegmatic person. 

His presence, indeed, was particularly useful on this occasion ; 
for, being informed by the Lady Eveline in what condition she 
was placed, and implored at the same time to look to the situation 
of Sir Damian de Lacy, he began, with admirable composure and 
some skill, to stop the wounds of the one, while his attendants 
collected levers, left by the Welsh as they wtreated, and were 
soon ready to attempt the liberation of Eveline. With much 
caution, and under the experienced direction of Flammock, the 
stone was at length so much raised, that the Lady Eveline was 
visible, to the delight of all, and especially of the faithful Rose, 
who, regardless of the risk of personal harm, fluttered around her 
mistress's place of confinement, like a bird robbed of her nest* 
lings around the cage in which the truant urchin has imprisoned 
them. Precaution was necessary to remove the stone, lest £ftlling 
inwards it might do the lady injury. « 

At length the rocky fragment was so much , displaced that she 
could issue forth ; while her people, as in hatred of the eoercifm. 
which she had sustained, ceased not to heave, with bar and lever, . 
till, totally destroying the balance of the heavy mass, it turned 
over from the little fUt on which it had been placed at the mouth 
of the subterranean entrance, and, acquiring force as it revolved 
down a*steep declivity, was at length put into rapid motion, and 
rolled, crashed, and thundered, down the hill, amid flashes of fire 
which it forced from the rocks, and clouds of smoke and dust, 
until it alighted In the channel of a brook, where it broke into 
several massive fragments, with a noise that might have been 
heard some miles off. 

With garments rent and soiled through the violence she had 
sustained ; with dishevelled hair, and disordered dress ; faint fr^om 
the stifling effect of her confinement, and exhausted by the efforts 
she had made to relieve herself, Eveline did not, neverthdeas, 
waste a single minute in considering her own condition ; but, with 
tbe eagerness of a sister hastening to the assistance of her only 
brother, betook herself to examine the several severe wounds it 
Damian de Lacy, and to use proper means to stanch the blood 
and recall him from his swoon. We have said elsewhere, that, 
like other ladies of the time, Eveline was not altogether unac- 
quainted with the surgical art, and she now displayed a greater 
share of knowledge than she had been thought capable of exerting. 
There was prudence, foresight, and tenderness, in every direction 
which slie gave, and the softness of the female sex, with their 
officious humanity, ever ready to assist in alleviating human 
misery, seemed in her enhanced, and rendered dignified, by tiie 
sagacity of a strong and powerful understanding. Afier healing 



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TALB I. THE BETTIOTHBT). * 2«f> 

'Mk wmider for a mimte or two the prudent and ready-witted 
directioiis of her mifttrefls, Hoee seemed at onoe to reooUect thai 
the patient ahoald not be left to the exclusive eare of the Lad^r 
Eveline, and joining, therefore, in the task, she rendered what ■ 
aasiatanee she oouM, while the attendants were employed in 
forming a litter, en which the wounded knight was to be oon- 
iwjed to the castle of the Garde Boloureose. 



CHAPTER XXV, 

A meny plate. *tU said, in times of yore ; 
But something siU it now ~ the place Is coned. 

WoMwwonni. 

Thb place on which the skirmish had occurred, and the deli- 
"venince of the Lady Eveline had been effected, was a wild and 
sin^cdar ^ot, being a small level plain, forming a sort of stage, t« 
resting*place, between two very rough paths, one of which wmded 
up the rivulet from below, and ano^er continued the ascent 
above. Being surrounded by hills and woods, it was a celebrated 
spot for finding game, and, in former days, a Welsh prince, 
renowned for his universal hospitality, his love of orw and of tlie 
chase, had erected a forest-lodge, wh^re he used to feast hi» 
friends and followers with a profosion unexampled in Cambria. 

The fancy of the bards, always captivated with magnificence, 
and having no objections to the peculiar species of profusion 
in^otised by this potentate, gave hmi the surname of Bdria of the 
Goblets ; and celebrated him 'in their odes in terms as high as 
those which exalt the heroes of the famous Hirlas Horn. The 
subject of their praises, however, fell finally a victim to his pro- 
pensities, havine been stabbed to the heart in one of those scenes 
of oonfoe^ and drunkenness which were' frequently the oonclu* 
sion of his renowned banquets. Shocked at this catastrophe, the 
assembled Britons Interred the relics of the Prince on the place 
where he had died, within the narrow vault where Eveline had 
been confined, and having barricaded the entrance of the sepulchre 
with fragments ol rock, heaped over it an immense eaim, or pile 
of stones, on the summit of which they put the assassin to death. 
Superstition isuarded the spot ; and for many a year this memorial 
of Edris remained unviolated, although the lodge had gone to 
ruin, and its vestiges had totally decayed. 

In latter years, some prowling band of Welsh robbers had 
discovered the secret entrance, and opened it with the view of 
ransacking the tomb for arms and treasures, which were in ancient 
times often buried with the dead. These marauders were disap- 
pointed, and obtained nothing by the violation of the grave of 
bhris, exceptmg the knowledge of a secret place, which might ba 

VOL. zix. o 



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^10 TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. ^ 

used for depodiing their booty, or even as a place of retreut fof- 
one of tbeir number in a ease of emergency. 

When the followers of Damian, five or six in number, explained 
their part of the history of the day to Wilkin Flammock, it ap- 
peared that Damian had ordered them to horse at break of day, 
with a more considerable body, to act, as they understood, against 
a party of insurgent peasants, when of a sudden he had alterad his 
mind, and, dividing his force into small bands, employed himself 
and tii€fm in reconnoitring more than one mountain-pass betwixt 
Wales and the Marches of the English country, in the neigh* 
bourhobd of the Grarde Doloureuse. 

This was an occupation so ordinary for him, that it excited no 
particular notice. These manoeuvres were frequently undertaken 
by the warlike marchers, for the purpose of intimidating the 
Welsh in general, more especially the bands of outlaws, who, 
independent of any regular government, infested those wild fron- 
tiers. Yet it escaped not comment, that, in undertaking such 
service at this moment, Damian seemed to abandon that of dis- 
persing the insurgents, which had been considered as the chief 
object of the day. 

It was about noon, when, falling in, as good fortune would have 
it; with one of the fugitive grooms, Damian and his immediate 
attendants received information of the violence committed on the 
Lady Eveline, and, by their perfect knowledge of the country, 
were able to intercept the ruffians at the Pass of Edris, as it was 
called, by which the Welsh rovers ordinarily returned to their 
strongholds in the interior. It is probable that the banditti were 
'not aware of the small force which Damian headed in person, and 
at the same time knew that there would be an immediate and hot 
pursuit in their rear ; and these circumstances led their leader to 
adopt the singular expedient of hiding Eveline in the tomb, while 
one of their own number, dressed in her clothes, might serve as 
a decoy to deceive their assailants, and lead them from the spot 
where she was really concealed, to which it was no doiibt the 
purpose of the ban(ytti to retmn, when they had eluded their 
pursuers. 

Accordingly, the robbers had already drawn' up before the 
tomb for the purpose of regularly retreating, until they should 
find some suitable place either for making a stand, or where, if 
overmatched, they might, by abandoning uieir horses, and dis* 
persing among the rocks, evade the attack of the Norman cavafry. 
Their plan had been defeated by the precipitation of Damian, 
who, beholding as he thought the plumes and mantle of the Lady 
Eveline in the rear of the party, charged them without considerinjg 
either the odds of numbers, or the lightness of his own armour, 
which, consisting only of a headpiece and a buff surcoat, offered 
but impeifect resistance to the Welsh knives and glaives. H9 
was accordingly wounded severely at the onset, and would have 
been slain, but for the exertions of his few folIowei*s, and the fears 



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TALE I. THE BBTBOTHBD. 211 

of file Webh, that, while thus oontmuing the battle in fh>nt, they 
might be afleaulted in the rear by the foUowers of Eveline, whom 
they must now suppose were all in arms and motion. They 
retreated, therefore, or rather fled, and the attendants of Damian 
were despatched after them by their fallen master, with directions 
to let no consideratioo induce them to leave off the chase, until 
the captive Lady of the Garde Doloureuse was delivered from her 
ravishers. 

The outlaws, secure in their knowledge of the paths, and the 
activity of their snuUl Welsh horses, noade an orderly retreat, 
with the exception of two or three of their rear-guard, cut down 
by Damiao in his furious onset They shot arrows, from time to 
time, at the men-at-arms, and laughed at the ineffectual efforts 
whicfa these heavy-armed warriors, with their barbed horses, 
made to overtake them. But the scene was changed by the 
appearance of Wilkin Flammock, on his puissant war-horse, who 
was beginning to ascend the pass, leading a party consisting both 
of foot and horse. The fear of being intercepted caused the out- 
laws to iiave recourse to their last stratagem, and, abandoning 
their Welsh nags, they betook themselves to the cliffs, and, by 
saperior activity and dexterity, baffled, generally speaking, the 
attempts of their pursuers on either hand. All of them, however, 
were not equally fortunate, for two or three fell into the hands of 
Flammock's party ; amongst others, the person upon whom Eve- 
line's clothes had been placed, and who now, to the great disap- 
pointment of those who had attached themselves to his pursuit, 
proved to be, not the Udy whom they were emulous to deliver, 
but a fiur-haired young Welshman, whose wild looks, and inco- 
herent speech, seemed to argue a disturbed imagination. This 
would not liave saved him from immediate death, the usual doom 
of captives taken in such skirmishes, had not the ftunt blast of 
Damian's horn, sounding from above, recalled his own party, and 
summoned that of Wilkin Flammock to the spot ; while, in the 
confusion and hurry of their obeying the signal, the pity or the 
contempt of his guards suffered the prisoner to escape. They 
had, indeed, little to learn from him, even had he" been disposed 
to give intelligence, or capable of communicating it. All were 
well assured that their lady had fallen into an ambuscade, formed 
by Dawfyd the one-eyed, a redoubted freebooter of the period, 
who had ventured upon .this hardy enterprise in the hope of ob- 
taining a large ransom for the captive Eveline, and all, incensed 
at his extreme insolence and audacity, devoted his head and limbs 
to the eagles and the ravens. 

These were the particulars which the fdlowers of Flammock 
and of Damian learned by comparing notes with each other, on 
the incidents of the day. As they returned by the Red Pool they 
were joined by Dame Gillian, who, after many exclamations of 
joy at the unexpected liberation of her lady, and^as many of sor- 
row at the unexpected, disaster of Damian^ proceeded to infoctQ 



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31f TALB0 OF THE CRUSADBM/ 

the men-at-ftniiB, that the nerchant, wboee hawks hM bee».tM' 
ariginal cause of these adventares, had beco taken piiseBer hgr 
two f>r three of the Welsh m their retreat, and that she kevself 
and the wounded Raoul would have shared the same fste, h«t that 
they had no horse left to raonnt her upon, and M not eonsideF 
•Id Raoul as worth either ranssfo or the trooUe of kiVing. One 
had, indeed, flung a stone at hkn as he hiy on the faiHsidey hut 
happily, as his dame said, it fell something short of him — ** It 
was but a little fellow who ttirew it," she said — ** there was a 
big mau amongst them — if he had tried, it *s Kke, by our hadf^ 
grace, he had cast it a thought farther.** So saying, the dame 

fathered herself up, and adjusted her dress for again UMMiatnig om 
orsebaok. 

The wounded Damian was pUoed on a Ktter, hastily coMtreeted 
of boughs, and, with tlie females, was placed in the centre of ihe 
little troop, iuigmented by the rest of the young knight's foOowerSy 
who began to rejoin bis standard. The united body now marched 
with military order and precaution, and winded throu^ the 
passes with the attentioii of men pifpared to meet and te repel 
injury. ' 



CHAPTER XXYL 

Wliat I fair, and young, and latthfiil tpo ? 
A miracle, if tbh be true. 

WALLSa. 

RosB, by nature one of the most disbterested and aibotienate 
maidens that ever breathed, was tiie first who, haetily considering 
the peenliar condition in whi<A her lady was pkMed, and the 
marked degree of restraint wbidi had hitherto charaotenaed hee 
intercomrse with her youthful guardian^ became anxiens to know 
how the wounded knight was to be disposed of ; and w hen she 
eame to Eveline's side for the purpose of asking this iraportaiil 
question, her resolution w^ll-nigh failed her. 

The appearance of Eveline was indeed such as mi||ht have made 
it almost cruelty to intrude upon her any other subject of anxious 
consideration than these with which her mind had been so lateijr 
assailed, and was still occupied. Her countenance was as pale m 
death could have made it, unless where it wait specked with drops 
of blood ; her veil, torn and disordered, was soiled with dust and 
with gore ; her hair, wildly didievelled, fell in elf4oekB on hev 
brow and shoulders, and a single broken and nigged feathes^ 
which was all that remained of her headgear, had been twisted 
among her trcoocs and still flowed there, as if in mockery, rathe* 
than ornament. Her eyes were fixed on the litter where Ikuniaii 
was deposited, and she rode dose beside it, without apparently 
wasting a thought on any thing, save the danger of him who wn^ 



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TALB^I. THB BETttOTHElV 91S^ 

• Ron plaiBly iaw thai h^ lady was aider feelings ef «xeita- 
ticm, which might lender it difficult for her to take a wise and 
pradeBt view of her own situation. She endeavoured gradually 
to awaken her to a sense of it ^ Dearest lady," said Rose, 
** wiU H please you to take my mantie !" 

*^ T oimea t me not," answered Eveline, with some sharpness in 
her aoeent 

'^ Indeed, my lady," said Dame Gillian, bustling up as one who 
feared her functions as mistress of the robes might be interfered, 
with^-'^ indeed, my lady, Rose Flammock sf^aks truth ; and 
neither your kirtle ^r your gown are sitting as they should do ; 
aad, to speak truth, th^ are but barely decent. And so, if Rose 
wiU turn herself, and put her horse out of my way," continued. 
the tire-woman, ** X wUl put your dress in better order in the. 
sticking in of a bodkin, than any Fleming of them all ooukl do in 
twAve hours." 

** I care not for my dress," relied Eveline, in the same manner 
aabelore. 

. ^Gare then for your honour — for your fame," said Rose, rid* 
ing oloee to her mistress, and whispering in her ear ; " think, and 
that hastily, how you are to dispose of this wounded young man.*' 

^ To the castle," answered Eveline aloud, as if scorning the 
•Ifeetation «€ secrecy ; " lead to the castle^ and that straight aa 
you can." 

^ Why ncft rather to tiis own camp, or to Malpas !" said Rose 
V-'^ dearest lady, believe, it will be for the best." . 

" Wherefore not -^ wherefore not ! — wherefore not leave him 
0n the wayside at onee, to the knife of the Welshman, and tha 
teeth of the wolf 1 — Once — twice — three times has he beeii 
11^ preserver. Where I go, he shall go ; nor will I be in safety 
myself a OMment sooner than I know that he is so." 

Rose saw that she could make no impres^on on her mistress, 
tod iter own refleotioQ tdd her that the wounded man's life might 
be endangered by a longer transportation than was absokitely 
necessary. An expedient occurred to her, by which she imagined 
this objection might be obviated ; but it was necessary she should 
nonsuit her £(kth«^ She struck her palfrey with her riding-rod, 
and in a moment her diminutive, though beautiful figure, and her 
spirited little jennet, were by the side of the gigantic Fleming aii4 
4us tall black horse, and riding, as it were, in their vast shadow. 
** My .dearest father," said Rose, ^ the lady intends that Sif 
Dsmian be transported to the castle, where it is like he may 
be 4 long sojourner ; — what think you 1 — is that wholesome 
counsel!" 

** Wholesome for the youth, surely, Roschen," answered tha 
Fleming, <* because he wUl escape the better risk of a fever/' 
. ** True ; but is it wise for my lady I" continued Rose. 

** Wise enough, if she desl wiwdy. But wbereiore shouldst thou 
doubt her, Remen !" 



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214 TALES OF TRE CRUSAPEM* 

^ I know not,** sud Roee^ unwilling to br«fttlie eren to Eer 
father the fears and doubts which she^ herself entertained ; ** but 
where there are evil tongnes, there may be evil rehearsing. Sir 
Damian and my lady are both very voong — Meithinks it were 
better, dearest father, would you offer the shelter of your roof t« the 
' wounded knight, in the stead of his being carried to tlra castle.'* 

<< That I shall not, wench/' answered the Fleming, hastily-— 
** that I shall not, if I may help. Norman shall not eroes my 
quiet threshold, nor Englishman neither, to mock mv quiet thrift, 
and consume roy substance. Thou dost not know mem, because 
thou art ever with thy lady, and hast her good fitvour ; but I 
know them well ; and the best I can nt from them is Lasy Flail'* 
derkin, and Greedy Flanderldn, and Flemish sol — I thimk the 
, saints, they cannot say Coward Fhiaderkin, siBce Gwenwyii's 
Welsh uproar." 

** I had ever thought, my father," answered Rose, ** that yoni 
spirit was too calm to regard these base cakimnies. Bethink you 
we are under this Uuly*s banner, and that she has been my loring 
mistress, and her father was your good lord ; to the Constable 
too, are you beholden, for enlarged pririleges. Money may pay 
debt, but kindness only can requite kindness ; aad I forebode uiat 
you will never have such an -opportunity to do kindness to the 
houses of Berenger and De Lacy, as by opening the doors of your 
house to this wounded knight." 

**The doors of my house f" answered the Fleming — **do I 
know how long I may call that, or any house upon earu my ownl 
AU», my dan^ter, we came hither to fly from the rage of the 
elements, but who knows how so(m we may perish by ue wratk 
of men I" 

** You speak strangely, my father," said Rose ; ** it hoMs not 
with your solid wisdom to augur sudi general evil from the nsk 
enterprise of a Welsh outUw." 

« I think not of the One-eyed robb^,"said Wilkin ;« aldiougli 
the increase and audacity of such robbers as Dawfyd is no good 
sign of a quiet country. But thou, who livest within yond^ 
walls, hearest but little of what passes without, and your estate is 
less anxious ; — you had known nothing of the news from me^ 
unless in case I had found it necessary to lenfiove to aaothee 
country.** 

^ To remove, my dearest father, from the land where your 
thrift and industry have gained you an honourable competency !** 

** Ay', and where the hunger of wicked noen, who envy me the 
produce of my thrift, may likely bring me to a dishonourable 
death. There have been tumults among the English rabble ia 
more tiian one county, and their wrath is -directed against those 
of our nation, as if we were Jews or heathens, and not better 
Christians and better men than themselves. They have, at York, 
Bristol, and elsewhere, sacked the houses of die Flemings, spoiled 
their goods, misused their families, and murdered themselvee. -^ 



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^ALE I. THB BETROTHED. 215 

And why ! — except that we hare brought among them the skill 
and industry which they possessed not; and because wealth, 
which they would never else have seen in Britain, was the reward 
of our art and our toil. Roschen, this evil spirit is spreading 
wider daily. Here we are more safe than elsewhere, because 
we form a* colony of some numbers and strength. But I confide 
not in our neighbours ; and hadst not thou, Rose, been in secu* 
rity, I would long ere this have given up all, and left Britain." , 

*^ Given up all, and left Britain !*' — The words sounded pro'' 
digious in the ears of his daughter, who knew better than any one 
how successful her father had been in his industry, and how 
unlikely one of his firm and sedate temper was to abandon known 
and pi^esent advantages for the dread of distant or contingent 
peril. At length she replied, ** If such be your peril, my father, 
methinks your house and goods cannot have a better protectioA 
than the presence of this noble knight. Where lives the man 
who dare aught of violence against the house which harbours 
Damian de Lacy V* 

*^ I know not that," said the Fleming, in the same composed 
and steady, but ominous tone — ** May Heaven forgive it me, if 
it be nn ! but I see little save folly in these Crusades, which the 
priesthood have preached up so. successfully. Here has tlie 
Constable been absent fer nearly three years, and no certain 
tidings of his life or death, victory or defeat He marched from 
hence, as if he meant not to draw bridle or sheathe sword until 
the Holy SepiUchre was won from the Saracens, yet we can hear 
with no certainty whether even a hamlet has been taken from the 
Saracens. In the meanwhile, the people that are at home grow 
discontented ; their lords, with the better part of their followers, 
are in Palestine — dead or aUve we scarcely know ; the people 
themselves are oppressed and flayed by stewards and deputies, 
whose yoke is neither so light nor so lightly endured as tlmt of 
the actual lord. The commons, who naturally hate the knights 
and gentry^ think it no bad time to make some head against them 
— ay, and there be some of noble blood who would not care to 
be their leaders, that they may have their share in the ^M)il ; for 
foreign expeditions and profligate habits have made many poor ; 
and he that is poor will murder liis father for money. I hate 
poor people ; and I would the devil had every^ man who cannot 
keep himself by the work of his own hand !" 

The Fleming concluded, with this characteristic imprecationj 
a speech which gave Rose a more frightful view of the state of 
£ngland, than, shut up as she was within the Garde Doloureuse, 
she had before had an opportunity of learning. ** Surely," she 
said — ** surely these violences of which you speak are not to be 
dreaded by those who live under the banner of De Lacy and of 
Berenger !" 

** Berenger subsists but in name," answered Wilkin Flammock, 
«and Damian, though a brave youth, hath not his uncle's i 



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818 TALKS OF THE GRUSADBB8. 

deticj ti diancier, snd av^iority. His men also eem'plaSn 'tiult 
ihej are luffaased with the duty oi wotehing for proteetion of a 
iMUStle^ in itself impnognable, Mid suffioieiitljr garraaoned, and that 
tliey kwe afl opportunity of hooonrable enterprise, aa they call it 
*— that is, of fight and spoil — in this inactive and inglcnriona 
floaiMMr of Hfe. They say tiiat Damian the beardless ^*as a mao^ 
but that Damian with the moustache Is no better than a womaD ; 
and that age, wlneh has darkened his upper lip, hath at the samo 
time blenoned his eourage»— * And they say more, which were but 
wearisome to teH." 

^ Nay, but, let me know what they say ; let me know it, for 
Heaven's sake 1" answered Bose, *< if it oonoera, as it must eon«> 
©em, my dear lady." r 

^ Even so, Rosohen,** .answered Wilkin. ^ There are many 
among the Norman nMn-atnanns who talk, «ver their wine cups, 
how tiiat Damian de Lacy is in love with his uncle's betrothed 
bride; ay^ and that (bey opirespond together by art magic" 
^ <* By art magic, indeed, it must be," said Rose, smiMng scom- 
luHy, ^ for by no earfldy means do they correspond, as I^ fur one, 
can bear witness." 

^ To art magic, accordingly, tiiey impute it," quoth Wilkin 
flaramock, ** that ao soon as ever my lady stirs beyond the portal 
of her castle, De Lacy is in the saddle with a party of his cavalry, 
though tliey are ^positively certain that he has received no mes- 
senger, letter, or other «ifdinary notice of her purpese ; nor hava 
they ever, on such oeeasSoas, scoured the iNtsses long, ere they 
liave seen or heard of my lAdy Eveline's being abroad." 

<< This has not escaped me," said Bose ; ^aad my lady haa 
axpressed hereeif even disfMeased at the accuracy which Damian 
displayed in procuring a knowledge of her motions, as weH as at 
tlitt officioas punctuality with which he Juis attended and guarded 
them. ToHiay has, however, shewn," «he oontino^, " that his 
vigilance may serve a good purpose ; and as they never met up<A 
these occasions, but continued at such distance as excluded even 
the possibility of intereeurse, metliinks ^y might have escaped 
tlie censure of the most suspicious." 

''Ay, my daughter Roschen," replied Wilkin, ^ but it is 
possible to drive caution so far as to excite suspicion. Why^ 
say the men-at-arms, should these two observe such constant, 
yet such guarded intelligenoe wiih one another ! Why should 
tlieir approach be so near, and why, yet, should they never 
meet ! If they had been merely the n^hiew and the uncle's . 
bride, Aey must have had interviews avowedly and frankly; and, 
on the other hand, if they be two secret lovers, there is reason to 
believe that tbey do find their own private places of meeting; 
tliough they have art sufficient to conceal them." 

'* Every word that you speak, my father," replied the generoos 
Bose, ^increases the absolute necessity that you receive this 
wuuaded youth into your house. Be the evils you dread ever aa 



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TALK I. THE BETROTHeiT. El 7 

greet, |ret, nay f oa rely upon it, that they eaiutot he angmedted 
by admittiBg him, with a few of his faithful foUowen." * 

. . *^ Not oae follower," said the Fleming, hastily, *^ not one beef4ed 
knave of them, save the pace that is to tend fah% and the doctor 
that is to attempt his cure." 

** But I may offer the shelter of your roof to these three, at 
least !" answered Rose. 

<* Do as thou wilt, do aB fiien wHt,*' said the doating father. 
" By my £uth, Roschen, it is well for thee thou hast sense and 
moderation in asking, since I am so fee^^ly pronjpt in granting. 
This is one (>f your freaks, now, of hotiour or generosity — but 
commend me to prudence and honesty. — Ah I Rose, Rose, thoee 
who would do what is better than good, eoraetimes hring about 
what is worse than bad ! — But I think I shall be quit of the 
trouble for the fear ; and that thy mistress, who is, with reve- 
rence, something of a damsel erranL will stand stoutly for the 
chivahrous privifege of lodging faer kn^gfat kt her own boxcar, and 
Heading' him in person.** 

The Fleming prc^hesied true. Rose had ao sooner made the 
proposal to Eveline, that the wounded Damiaa should be left i^ 
her Other's house for his recovery, than her mistress briefly and 
positively rejected the proposal. ** fie has been my preserver," 
«he said, " and if there be one being left for whom the gates of the 
Gaide Dotoureuse should of themselves fly open, it is to Damiaa 
de Lacy. Nay, damsel, look not upon me with that suspicious 
and yet sorrondfui coimtenanoe-^they thatare beyond disguise, my 
girl, contemn suspicion — It is te God and Our Lady that I must 
answer, and to them my hosom lies open I" 
' They proceeded m ^lenoe to the castle gate, when the Lady 
JSvehne issued her orders thai her <7«iaTdian> as she emphatically 
termed Damian, should be lodged in her father^ apartment; and, 
with the prudence of more advanced age, she gave the' necessary 
direetioB for the reception and aeoommoSation ctf his followers, and 
Ihe arrangements which such an aeoessicm of goesto required in 
the fortress. All this she did with the utmost composure and 
f^esenoe of mind, «yeB before she altered far arrangeid her own 
disordered dren. 

Another step still remained to he taken. She hastened to the 
Chapel of the Virgin, and prostrating herself before her divine 
protectress, returned thanks for her second deliverance, and 
implored her guidance and direction, and, throngfa her interoes- 
aion, that of Almighty God, for the disposal and regoUtion of her 
cenduct. ^ Thou knowest," she said, *'that from no eonfldence 
iq my own strength, have I thrust mynelf into danger. Oh, make 
me strong whore I am most weak — Let not my gratitude and my 
compassion be a snare to me ; and while I stnve to disehaige the 
^ties which thankfulness imposes on me, save me from the evil 
tongnes of men — ^and save — on, save me from the insidious devices 
•fmy owaheartl*' 



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218 TALES OF THIS CRUSADEBS.' 

She ^bea told her roBary with devont fmrroiir, and retiriiig frool 
Huf chapel to her own apartmtot, sammoned her women to adjust 
her dress, and remove the external appearance of the tiotonoe to 
which she had been so lately subject^ 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

Jiijia. Owtieilr, 

You are our captive -^ but we 'II lue you lo. 
That you shall think your prison Joys may match 
Whate'er your liberty hath known of pleasure. 

Roderiek. No, fairest, we have trifled b«i« too long $ 
And, lingering to see vour rosei bloMom, 
I 've let my laurels wither. 

Abiultbd in garments of a mooming colour, and of a iashioa 
more ihatronly than perhaps altogether befitted her youth— plain 
to an extremity, and devoid of all ornament, save her rosary — 
Eveline now performed the duty of waiting upon her wounded 
deliverer ; a duty which the etiquette of the time not only per* 
mitted, but peremptorily enjoined. She was attended by Rose 
and Dame Gillian. Margery, whose element was a sick-chamber» 
had been already despatdied to that of the young knight, to attend 
to whatever his condition might require. 

Eveline entered the room with a light step, as if unwilling to 
disturb the patient. She paused at the door, and cast her eyes 
around her. It had been her father's diamber ; nor had she 
entered it since his violent death. Around the walls hung a part 
of his armour and weapons, with hawking-gloves, huntii^-polesy 
and other instruments of silvan sport. These relics brou^t as it 
were in living form before her the stately presence of old Sir 
Raymond. ^ Frown not, my father," —her lips formed the words^ 
though her voice did not utter them — ^ frown not — Eveline will 
never be unworthy of thee.*' 

Father Aldrovand, and Amelot, the page of Damian, wer* 
seated by the bedside. They rose as Lady Eveline entered ; and 
the first, who meddled a little with the heaJing art, said to Eveline 
^ that the knight had slumbered for some time, and was now 
about to awake." 

Amelot at the same time came forward, and in a hasty and 
low voice, begged that the chamber iftight be kept quiet, and the 
spectators requested to retire. ^ My lord," he said, ^ ever since 
his illness at Gloucester, is apt to speak something wildly as he 
awakes from sleep, and will be displeased with ine should I 
permit any one to be near him." 

Eveline accordingly caused her women and the monk to retire 
into the anteroom, while she herself remained standing by the 
door-commouicatkm which connected the apartments^ and beard 



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TALE I. TRB BETBOTHEO. 219 

Damkn mentioii her name as he tamed himself piuDfulIy on his 
couch. ^ Is she safe and unharmed V* was his first question, and 
it was asked with an eagerness which intimated how far it preceded 
all other considerations. When Amelot replied in the affirmative^ 
he righed, as one whose bosom is relieved from Some weighty 
load, and in a less animated voice, asked of the page where thev 
were. ** This apartment/' he said, ^ with its &rniture, are all 
strange to me." 

" My dear master," said Amelot, ** you are at present too weak 
to ask questions and receive explanations." 

** Be I where I will," said Damian, as if recovering his recol- 
lection, ^ I am not in the place where my duty calls me. Tell 
my trumpets to sound to horse — to horse, and let Ralph Genvil 
carry my banner. To horse — ^"to horse ! we haire not a moment 
toloerl" 

The wounded knight ma^e some effort to rise, which, in his 
Btate of weakness, Amelot was easily able to frustrate. ^ Thou 
art light," he said, as he sunk back into his reclining posture — 
** ^ou art right— I am weak — but why should strength remain 
when honour is lost" 

The unhappy young man covered his &oe with his hands, and 
groaned in agony, which seemed more that of the mind than of 
Sie body. I^y Eveline apprpached his bedside with unassured 
steps, fearing she knew not what, yet earnest to testify the inte- 
rest she felt in the distresses of the sufferer. Bamian looked up 
and beheld her, and again hid his &ce with his hands. 

** What means this strange passion. Sir Knight 1" said Eveline, 
irith a voice which, at first weak and trembling, gradually obtained 
steadiness and composure. ^ Ought it to grieve you so nmch, 
sworn as you are to the duties of chivah^, that Heaven hath 
twice made you its instrument to save the unfortunate Eveline 
Berenger !" 

<< Oh no, no I" he excUumed with rapidity ; " since you are 
saved, all is well — but time presses^ — it is neceseary I should 
presently depart — nowhere ought I now to tarry — I«iist of all, 
within this castle — Once more, Amelot, let them get to horse !" 

'^ Nay, my good lord," said the damse^ ^ this must not be. As 
your ward, I cannot let my guardian part thus suddenly — as a 
physician, I cannot allow my patient to destroy himself-— It is 
mipossible that you can brook the saddle." 

^A Utter — a bier — a cart, to drag forth the dishonoured 
knight and traitor — all were too good for me — a coffin were 
best of all ! — But see, Amelot, that it be framed like that of the 
meanest churl — no spurs displayed on the pall — no shield with 
the ancient coat of the De Laoys — no helmet with their knightly 
crest must deck the hearse of him whose name is dishonouml t" 

''Is his brain unsettled 1" said Eveline, looking with terror 
from the wounded man to his attendant; ''or is there some 
dreadful myst^ in these broken words ! — If so, speak it forth ; 



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ft2§ fAVB^^iftumCRvaJimiBm 

Mid if it may be «mende4 by Hfe or goodf^iny dcAiiranr wHl sitsl 
tain DO wrottg." 

Amelot regarded her with a dejected and mekuidioly air, afaoolL 
his head, and looked down on hii master with a eountenanoe whioh 
seemed to express, that the questions which she asked could not 
be prudently answered in l^r Damian's presence. The Lady 
EveliBe) observing this gesture, stepped back int» the (mter apart* 
ment, and made Amelot a sign to follow her. He obeyed,-after.a 
glance at his master, who rettuuned in the same disconsolate pos- 
ture as formerly, with his hands crossed over his eyes, Hke one 
who wished to exchlde the light, and all which the Kght made 
▼isiblek 

When Amelot was in the wardrobe, Eveline, making signs to 
her attendants to keep at such distance ks the room permitted^ 
questioned him closely on the cause of his master's desperate ex^- 
pression of terror imd remorse. ^Thon knoweet,'' she said, 
^ that I am bound to snooonr thy lord, if I may, both from grati«> 
tnde, as one whom he hath served to the peril of his life— * and 
also from kinsmanship. Tell me, therefore, in what case he 
stands, that I may help him if I can — that is," she added, bet 
pale dieeks deeply ookMirbgy ^ if the cause of lua distreSB be 
fitting for me to hear." 

l%e page bowed low, yet shewed such embarraannent when ha 

began to speak, as produced a corresponding degree of confusion 

> in the Lady Eveline, who, nevertheless, urged him as before ** to 

speak without scruple or delay — so that the tenor of his disoouno 

was fitting for her ears." 

<< Believe me, ndl>le lady,^ oaid Amelot, ** your eonttnands liad 
been instantly obeyed, but that I fear my master's disfdeasure if 
I talk of his affidrs without his warrant ; neverthelees^ on your 
command, whom I knew he ho&onn above all earthly beings, I 
will speak thus far, that if his life be si^e from the wounds he ban 
received, his honour and worship nay be in gretft danger, if it 
pieaee not Heaven to send a remedy." 

- ** Speak on," said EveKne ; *and be assured yon wffl do Sir 
thunian De Lacy no prejuchoe by the confidence you nay rest 
in me." 

« I well believe it, Udy," said tiie page. "Know, then, if ^ be 
not afaready known to you, that tiie clowns and rabble, who have 
taken arms against the nobles in the west, pretend to be faTovred 
hi their insurrection, not only by Rmdal Lacy, bvt by ny master. 
Sir Damian." 

<< They lie that dare charge him with such foul treason to his 
own blood, as well as to his sovereign !" replied EveKne. 

« Well do I believe Ihey He," said Amelot ; «but this hfaiden 
not their falsehoods from being believed by those who know him 
less inwardly. More *an one runaway from our troOp have 
joined tiiis rabblement, and that gives some credit to the scaadaU 
And then they say — they say -- that -- in shorty that my master 



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T4LE I. THE BETROTHED. 1^21 

hmgfi ta foamsB the lands in bia proper right which he occupies 
us bis UDcle's administrator ; and that if the old 0)mitable — i. 
crave yoor pardon, madam — should return from Palestine, be 
Qbould find it d^cult to obtain possession of his own again." 

** The sor^ wretches judge d others by their own base minds^ 
«nd conceive tbooe temptations too powerful for men of worthy 
which they are themselves conscious they would be unable to re- 
sist. But are the insurgents then so insolent and so powerful t 
We have heard of their violences^ but only as if it .had been some 
popular tumult.*' 

« We bad notice last night that they have drawn together in 
great iarcef |^ld besieged or blockaded Wild Wenlock, with his 
nen-at-Arms, in a village about ten miles hence. He hath sent 
to ay master, as his kinsman and companion-at-arms, to come to 
hm assistance. We were on horseback this morning to march to 
the rescue — when " 

He paused, and seemed unwilling to proceed. Eveline caught 
at the word. " When you heard of my danger !" she said. ** I 
would ye had rather begird of my death !" 

^ Surely, noble lady,'* said the page, with his eyes fixed on the 
g^und^ ^ nothing but so strong a cause could have ma4e my 
waster halt his troop, and carry the better part of them to the 
Welsh mountains, when his countryman's distress, and the com- 
«iand9 of the King*s Lieutenant, so peremptorily demanded his 
fmsance elsewhere." 

' ** I knew it," she said — ** I knew I was bom to be his destruc- 
tifM I yet metbinks this is worse than I dreamed of, when thf 
^orst wm A my thoughts. I feared to occasion his death, not hi^ 
loss of fame. For God's sake, young Amelot, do what thou cans^ 
aad that vcithout loss of time 1 Get thee straightway to horse, and 
jmm. tp tby Qwn men as many as thou canst gather of mine — Qp 
— ride, m^ brave youth — shew thy master's banner, and let them 
■aee Ihat his forces and his heart ure with them, though bis person 
be absent. Haste, haste, for. the time is precious." 
• '^ But the safety of this castle — But your own safety !*' said the 
page. ^ €rod knows how willingly I would do aught to save his 
Ume I But I know my master's niood ; and were you to sufier 
by my leaving the Garde Doloureuse, even although I were to save 
, him landv ^» <^d honour, bv my doing so, I should be more like 
to taste of his dagger, than of his thanl^ or bounty." 

<* G% Bevertbelesi^ dean Amelot^" said she ; ^ gather what force 
.thou canst make, and be^ne." 

^ You spnr » willing horse, madam," said the page, springing 
,to hia £eet ; ^and in the condition of my master, I see nothing 
better than that bis banner ^ould be displayed against these 
uhuris." 

*^ To arms^then," said Eveline, hastily ; ^ to arms, and win thy 
spuESk Bring me assurance that thy master's honour is safe, and 
1 will myaelf buckle them on thy beds. Here — take this blessed 



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222 TALES OF THE CRUSADERS, 

nisary — bind it on thy ci^t, and be the thought of the Virgin 
oT the Garde Doloureuse, that never failed a votaiy, stroog with 
thee in the hour of conflict." 

She had scarcely ended, ere Amelot flew firom her preseneey 
and summoning together such horse as he could assemble, both of 
his master's, and of those belonging to the castle, there were soon 
forty cavaliers mounted in the court-yard. 

But although the page was thus far readily obeyed, yet when 
the soldiers heard they were to go forth on a dangerous ^xpedi-^ 
tion, with no more experienced general than a youth of fifteen, 
they shewed a decided reluctance to move from the eastle. The 
old soldiers of De Lacy said, Damian himself was almost too 
youthful to command them, and had no right to delegate his 
authority to a mere boy ; while the followers of Berenger said, 
their mistress might be satisfied with her deliverance of the 
rooming, without trying farther dangerous conclusions by dimi* 
ninhing the garrison of her castle — ** The times,** they said, ** were 
stormy, and it was wisest to keep a stone roof over their heads.*' 

The more the soldiers communicated their ideas and apprehen- 
mons to each other, the stronger their disinclination to the imder- 
taking became ; and when Amelot, who, page-like, had gotae to see 
that his own horse was accoutred and brought forth, returned to 
the castle-yard, he found them standing con^sedly together, some 
mounted, some on foot, all men speaking loud, and all in a state 
of disorder, Ralph Genvil, a veteran whose face had been seamed 
with many a scar, and who had long foUovred the trade of a soldier 
of fortune, stood apart from the rest, holding his horse*8 bridle in 
one hand, and in the other the banner-spear, arouifil which the 
banner of De Lacy was still folded. 

•* What means this, Genvil !'* said the page, angrily, •* Why 
do you not mount your horse and display the banner I and what 
occasions all this confusion !** 

** Truly, Sir Page," said Genvil, composedly, * I am not in my 
saddle, because I have some regai^d for this old silken raff, which 
I have borne to honour in my time, and I will not wiUin^y carry 
it where men are unwilling to follow and defend it.** 

** No march — no sally — no lifting of banner to-day l** cried 
the soldiers, by way of burden to the banner-man's discourse. 

^ How now, cowards ! do you mutiny !** said Amelot, laying his 
hand upon his sword. 

*^ Menace not me. Sir Boy,^ said Genvil ; ** nor shake your 
sword my way. I tell thee, Amelot, were my weapon to cross 
with yours, never flail sent abroad more chaff than I would make 
splinters of your hatched and gilded toasting-iron. Look yon, 
there are gray-bearded men here that care not to he led about 
on any boy's humour. For roe, I stand little upon that ; and I 
care not wlietlier one boy or another conmiands roe. But I am 
the Lacy's man for the time ; and I am not sure that, in march- 
ing to ^e aid of this Wild \V'eulock, we shall dd an enmnd the 

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TALB I. *THE BETROTHED. 223 

Laey will thank us for. Why led he ns not thither in the morn- 
ing when we were commanded off into the mountains V* 

*^ You well know the eanse/' said the page. 
• *< Yes, we do know the cause ; or, if we do not, we can gness it,** 
•nswi^red the banner-man, with a horse laugh, which was echoed 
by several of his companions. 

^ I will cram the calumny down thy false throat, Grenvil !" said 
the page ; and, drawing lus sword, threw himself headlong on 
the faann^Mnan, without conudering their great difference of 
atbrength. 

Genvil was contented to foil his attack by one, and, as it 
seemed, a slight movement of his gigantic arm, witii which, he 
forced the page aside, parrying, at the same time, his blow with 
the standanl-epear. 

There was another loud laugh, and Amelot, feeling all his 
efforts baffled, threw his sword from him, and weeping in pride 
and indignation, hastened back to teU the Lady Eveline .of his bad 
sueeesB. ^ All," he said, ^is lost— the cowardly villains liave 
matinied, and will not move ; and the blame of their sloth and 
fiuntheartedness will be laid on ray dear master.'* 

^That shall never be/' said Eveline, << should I die to prevent 
it. — Follow me, Amelot." 

She hastily threw a scarlet scarf over her dark garments, and 
Jiastened down to the court-yard, followed by Gillian, assuming, 
as she went, various attitudes and actions exprefising astonish- 
ment and pity, and by Rose, carefully suppressmg all appearance 
of the ie^ings which she really entertained. 

Eveline entered the castle-court, with the kindling eye and 
glowing brow which her ancestors were wont to bear in danger 
and extremity, when their soul was arming to meet the storm, 
and displayed in their mien and looks high command and con- 
tempt of danger. She seemed at the moment taller than her 
Bsual site ; and it was with a voice distinct and clearly heard, 
though not exceeding the delicacy of feminine tone, that the 
mutineers heard her address them. ^ How is this, my masters f 
she said; and as she spoke, the bulky forms of the armed 
soldiers seemed to draw closer together, as if to escape her indi- 
vidual censure. It was like a group of heavy water-fowl, when 
Ihey dose to avoid the stoop of the slight and beautiful merlin, 
dreading the superiority of its nature and breeding over their 
own inert physical strength. — ^* How now I" again she demanded 
of them ; ^ is it a time, tliink ye,4o mutiny, when your lord is 
absent, and his nephew and lieutenant lies stretched on a bed of 
sickness t -^ Is it thus you keep your oaths t — Thus ve merit 
your leader's bounty t — Shame on ve, craven hounds, that quail 
and giive back the instant you lose sight of the huntsman !" 

There was a pause — the soldiers looked on each other, and 
then again on Eveline, as if ashamed alike to hold out in their 
mutiny, or to return to their usual discipline. 



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224. TALES OF fHE OSUSADBBA. 

^ I Me \wtr it isy my btave friends — ye laek 4 lead^ hei« ;' 
but stay not for that — I will guide you myself, and, weman as I . 
am, there need not a roan of you fear disgrace where a Berenger 
commands. «-^ Trap my pal^y with a ateel saddle,** she said, 
<*aDd that instantly/* She snatched ieom. the ground tiie page's 
light head-piece, and threw it over her hair, caught up his ^hrt^ 
swrord, and went on. ^ Here I promise you my oountenanee and 
guidance — this gentleman,** she pointed to Geavil, ^ shall sup- 
piy my lack of military sI^L He looks Uke a aaao ^at hath 
seen many a day of battle, and can well teach a young leader hiar 
devoir.** 

** Certes,*' said the old soldier, smiling in Sfate of himself, and 
shaking his head at the same time, ^ many a battle have I seen, 
but never under such a commander.** 

•* Nevertheless,'* said £veline, seeing how the eyea of the rest 
turned on Genvil, ^you do not — cannot -r-. will not — refuse t». 
fbllow me t You do not as a soldier, for ray weak voice supplies, 
your captain*8 orders— ^ you cannot as a gentleman, Cor a lady, a 
forlorn and disti^ssed female, asks you a boon — yo'u will net a9 
an Englishman, for your country requires your sword, and 
your oonuades are in dagger. Unfiirl your bann^, then, and 
march.'* * 

^ I would do so, upon my soul, fair lady,** answered Genvil, as 
if preparing to unfold tlie banner — <' And Amelot might lead us . 
i^ell enongh, with advantage of some lessons from me. B«t I . 
wot not whether you are sending us on the right road." 

^Surely, surely,** said Evelme, earnestly, ^it must be the^ 
right road which conducts you to the reli^ of Wenlock and bis 
followers, besieged by the insurgent boors." ^ 

^ I know not,** said Genvil, still hesitating. ** Our leader here,, 
Sir Damian de Lacy, protects the commons — men say be be-, 
friends thera — and I know he quarrelled with Wild Wenleck 
once for some petty wrong he did to the miller^ wifoa^ Tw^'ford* ^ 
We diould be finely off, When our fiery young leader is on foot 
again, if he should find we had beei) fighting agiUnst the side he 
fevoured.*' 

<< Assure yourself," said the maiden, anxiously, ^ the mere he 
would protect thfe commons ^^nst oppressimi, thd more he would 
put them down when oppressing others. Moiibt and ride -^ save 
Wenlock and his men — there is life and death in ev«By moment* 
I will warrant, with my ^ and buids, that whatsoever you da 
will be held good service to De Lacy. Come, then, follow me.'* 

'^ None surely can know Sir Damian's purpose better than yea, 
fur damsel,** answered Genvil ; ** nay, for that matter, you can 
Blake him change as ye list — And so I will march with the men, 
and we will aid Wenlock, if it is yet time^ as J trust it may ; foe 
lie is a rugged wolf, and when he turns to bay, will cost t^ie 
\ioon blood enough ere they sound a mori. But do you remain 
within the castle, fiiir lady, and trust to Amelot and me, — Com<^ 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 225 

Sii^ Page^ aasume the command; Bince so it must be ; though, by 
my faith, it is pity to take the head-piece from that pretty head, 
abd the sword from that pretty hand — By Saint Greorge ! to see 
them there is a credit to the soldier's profession." 

The huly accordingly surrendered the weapons to Amelot, 
exhorting him in few words to forget the offence he had received, 
and do his devoir manfuUv. Meanwhile Grenvil slowly unrolled 
the pennon — then shook it aoroad, and without putting his foot in 
the stirrup, aided himself a little with resting on the spear, and 
threw himself into the saddle, heavily armed as he was. " We 
are ready now, an it like your juvenility,'' said he to Amelot ; and 
then, while the page was putting the band into order, he whispered 
to his nearest comrade, ^ Methinks, instead of this old swallow 'li 
tail,* we should muster rarely under a foroidered petticoat — a 
furbelowed petticoat has no fellow in my mind. — Look you, 
Stephen Pontoys — I can forgive Damian now for forgetting 
his uncle and his own credit, about this wench ; for, by my faith, 
she is one I could have doated to death upon p<»r amours. Ah ! 
evil luck be the women's pcnrtion ! — they govern us at every turn, 
Stephen, and at every age. When they are young, they bribe ua 
with fair looks and sugared words, sweet kisses and love tokens ; 
and when they are of middle age, they work us to their will by 
presents and courtesies, red wine and red gold ; and when they 
are old, we are fain to run their errands to get out of mght of 
their old leathern visages. Well, old De Lacy should have staid 
at home and watched ms fUcon. But it is all one to us, Stephen, 
and we ma}' make some vantage to-day, for these boors have 
plundered more than one castle.'" 

** Ay, ay," answered Pontoys, ** the boor to the booty, and the 
banner-man to the boor, a right pithy proverb. But, prithee, 
canst thou say why his pageship les^is us not forward yet 1" 

'^ Pshaw !" answered Genvil, '* the shake I gave him has addled 
his brains — or perchance he has not swallowed all his tears yet ; 
sloth it is not, for 'tis a forward cockeril for his years, wherever 
honour is to be won. — See, they now begin to move. -— Well, it 
is a singular thing this gentle blood, Stephen ; for here is a child 
whom I but now baffled like a schoolboy, must lead us gray- 
beards where we may get our heads broken, and that at the com- 
mand of a light lady." 

** I warrant Sir Damian is secretary to my pretty lady,*'an8wer«a 
Stephen Pontoys, ''as this springald Amelot is to Sir Damian ; 
and so we poor men must obey and keep our mouths shut" 

« But our eyes open, Stephen Pontoys — forget not that" 

They were by this time out of the gates of the castle, and upon 
the road leading to the village, in which, afl they understood by 

^ The pennon of a Knight was, in shape, a long streamer, and forked Ukt a 
fwallow's tail t the banner of a Banneret waa iquare, and was formed into the 
other by catting the ends from the pennon. It tras thus the ceremony w'm 
Mfonned on the pennon of John Chsndos, by the BlaiUc Prince, before tba ' 

VOL. XfX P 



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2tS TALES OF THE GRUSADEB8. 

the inteUigenoe of the mornmgy Wenlock wms besieged or block* 
ftded by a greatly mip^or nomber of the insurgent eommons. 
Amelot rode at tiie head of the troop, still embarrassed by the 
aflhront which he had received in presence of the soldiers, and 
lost in meditating how be was to eke out that deficiency of 
experienee, which on former occasions had been supplied by the 
counsels of the banner^man, with whom he was ashamed to seek 
a reconciliation. But Grenyil was not of a nature absolutely sullen, 
though a habitual grumble. He rode up to the page, and having 
made his obeisance, respectfully asked him whether it were not 
well that some one or two of their number pricked forward upon 
good horses to learn how it stood with Wenlock, and whether 
they should be able to come up in time to his assistance. 

^ Methinks, banner-man," answered Amelot, ^ you should take 
the ruling of the troop, since you know so fittingly what should 
be done. You may be the fitter to command, because — But I 
wiM not upbraid you.** 

* Because I know so ill how to obey," replied Grenvil ; ** that 
is what you would say ; and, by my faith, I cannot deny but 
there may be some truth in it. But is it not peevish in thee to 
let a fair expedition be unwisely conducted, because of a foolish 
word or a sudden action t — Come, let it be peace with us.*' 

^ With all my heart," answered Amelot ; ^ and 1 will send out 
an advanced party upon the adventure, as thou hast advised me." 

*' Let it be old Stephen Pontoys and two of the Chester spears 
— he is as wily as an old fox, and neither hope nor fear will draw 
him a hairbreadth farther than judgment warrants." 

Amelot eagerly embraced the hint, and, at his command, Pon- 
toys and two lances darted forward to reconnoitre the road before 
them, and inquire into the condition of those whom they were 
advancing to succour. ^ And now that we are on the old terms, 
Sir Page," said the banner-man, '^ tell me, if thou canst, doth not 
yonder fidr lady love our handsome knight par amoun ?" 

*< It isa false calumny," said Amelot, indignantly ; *< betrothed 
as she is to his uncle, I am convinced she would rather die thar 
have such a thought, and so would our master. I have noted 
this heretical belief in thee befwe now, Genvil, and I have 
prayed thee to check it. You know the thing cannot be, for you 
know they have scarce ever met." 

** How should I know that," said Grenvil, ^ or thou either ! 
Watdi them ever so close — much water slides past the mill that 
Hob Miller never wots of. They do correspond ; that, at least, 
thou canst not deny t" 

<* I do deny it," said Amelot, '^ as I deny all that can touch their 
honoar." 

*<Then how, in Heaven's name, comes he by such perfect 
knowfege of her motions, as he has dispUyed no longer since than 
the morning !" 

.''Huw should 1 tell!" answered the page; <' there be wi6k 



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TALE I. THE BETBOTHBD. 227 

things, sorely, as saints and good angeb, and if there be one on 
earth deserves th^r protection, it is Dame £yeline Berenger/' 

** Well said, Master Counael-ke^ier," replied GJenvil^knghing ; 
^ bat that will hardly pass on an old trooper. — Saints and angeiiB, 
quotha! most saint^ke doings, I warrant you." 

The page was about to continue ins angry vindieationy when 
Stq!>hen Pontoys and his followers retivned upon the spur. 
** Wenlock holds out bravely,*' he exclaimed, << though he is felly 
girded in with these boors. The faurge erossbows are doing good 
service ; and I little doubt his making his place good till we come 
up, if it please you to ride something sharply. They have assailed 
the barriers, and were dose up to them even now, but were driven 
back with small suceen." 

The party were now put in as rapid motion as might consist 
with order, and soon reached the top of a small eminence, be- 
neath which lay the village where Wenlock was making his 
defence. The air rung with the cries and shouts of the insurgenti, 
who, numerous as bees, and possessed of that dogged spirit of 
courage so peeuhar p the English, thronged like ants te the 
barriers, and ' endeavoured to break down the palisades^ or to 
<£mb over them, in despite of the showers of stones and arrows 
from within, by which thej suffered great loss, as well as by the 
swords and batUe-axes of the men-at arms^ whenever they came 
to hand-blows. 

^ We are in time^ we are in time," said Amelot, dropping tlie 
rons of his bridle, and joyfuUy clapping his hands ; ** shake thy 
banner abroad, Genvil — give Wenlock and his f(dk>ws a fair view 
<^ it. — Comrades, halt — breathe your horses ior a moment — 
Hark hither, Genvil — If we descend by yonder broad pathway 
into the meadow where the cattle are " 

*^ Bravo, my yom^g £alcon !" replied Genvil, whose love of 
battle, like that of the war-horse of Job, kindled at the sight of 
the spears, and at Hm aoxmd of the trumpet ; '^ we shall have then 
an easy field for a charge on yonder knaves." 

<< What a thick blade cloud the villains make I" said Amelot ; 
''but we will let daylight through it with our lances — See, Gen- 
vil, the defSenders hoist a signal to shew they have seen us.'* 

** A signal to us t" exe&med CrenviL *' By Heaven, it is a 
white flag — a signal (ji surrender !" 

** Surrender I they cannot dream of it, when we aoce advancing 
to their succour," replied Amelot ; when two or three melan- 
choly notes from the trumpets of the besieged^ with a tbunderiog 
and ttmiultuons accUmation frvm the b^egers, rendered the 
hct indisputable. 

*^ Down goes Wenlock's pennon," said Genvil, ''and the churls 
enter the barricades on all points. — Here has been cowardice or 
treachery— What is to be done !" 

^ Advance on them," said Amelot, * retake the pbice, and 
deliver the prisoners." 



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228 TALB8 OF THB CRU8ADEB8. 

^ AdTADoe, indeed!" answered the b«iner-nian — ''Not a 
hone's length by mv counsel — we should have every nail in our 
corslets counted with arrow-shot, before we got down the hill in 
the face of such a multitude ; and the pkce to storm afterwards 
-—it were mere insanity." 

** Yet come a Ettle forward along with me," said the page ; 
^ perhaps we may find some path by which we could descend 
unperceived." 

Accordingly they rode forward a Utile way to reconnoitre the 
face of the hill,,the page still urging the possibility of descending 
it unperoeived amid the confusion^ when GenvU answered im- 
patiently^ << Unperceived ! — you are abeady perceived — here 
comes a fellow, pricking towards us as fast as his beast may 
trot." 

As he spoke, the rider came up to them. He was a short, 
thick-set peasant, in an ordinary fineze jacket and hose, with a 
blue cap on his head, which he had been scarcely able to pull 
over a diock head of red hair, that seemed in arms to repel the 
covering. The man's hands were bloody, and he «arried at his 
saddlebow a linen bag, which was also stained with blood. ^ Ye 
be of Damian de L^y's company, be ye not 1" said this rude 
messenger ; and^ when they answered in the affirmative, he pro- 
ceeded with the same blunt courtesy, <* Hob Miller of Twyford 
commends him to Damian de Lacy, and, knowing his purpose to 
amend disorders in the commonwealth, Hob Miller sends him 
toll of the grist which he hath grinded ;" and with that he took 
ftom the bi^ a human head, and tendered it to Amelot. 

** It is Wenlock's head," said Genvil — " how his eyes stare !** 

<* They will stare after no more wenches now," said the boor— 
** I have cured him of caterwauling." 

^ Thou {" said Amelot, stepping back in ^Sflgnst and in- 
dignation. 

** Yes, I myself," replied the peasant ; '^ I am Grand Jusftidaiy 
of the Commons, for lack of a better." 

^ Grand hangman, thou wouldst say," replied GenviJ. 

<< CaU it what thou list," replied the peasant. « Truly, it be- 
hoves men in state to give good example. I 'II bid no man do 
chat I am not ready to do myself. It is as easy to hang a man, 
as to say bans him ; we will have no splitting of offices in this 
new world, which is happily set up in old England." 

^ Wretch I" said Amelot, <' take back thy bloody token to 
them that sent thee ! Hadst thou not come upon assurance, I 
had pinned thee to the earth with my Unce — But, be assu^red, 
your cruelty shall be fearfully avenged.— Come, Genvil, let us to 
our men ; there is no farther use in abiding here." 

The feUow, who had expected a very dif&rent reception, stood 
staring after them for a few moments, then rephu^d his bloody 
iropby in the wallet, and rode back to those who sent him. 

** This comes oi meddling with men's amowretUt^* said GrenWl ; 



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TALB I. THE BBTROTHBD. 229 

* Sir Damian would needs brawl with Wenlock about his deal- 
ings with this miller's daughter, and you see they aooonnt him a 
favourer of their enterprise ; it will be well if others do not take 
up the same opinion. — I wish we were rid of the trouble which 
such suspicions may bring upon us — ay, were it at the price of 
my best horse — 1 am like to lose him at an}^ rate with the day's 
hard service, and I would it were the worst it is to cost us." 

The party returned, wearied and discomforted, to the castle of 
the Grarde i)oloureu8e, and not without losing several of their 
number by the way, some straggling owing to the wearineea of 
their horses, and others taking the opportunity of desertion, in 
order to join with the bands of insui^entB and plunderers, who 
had now gathered together in different quarters, and were aug- 
mented by recruits from the dissolute soldierv. 

Amelo^ on his return to the castle, found that the state of his 
master was still very precarious, and that the Lady Eveline, 
though much exhausted, had not yet retired to rest, but was 
awaiting his return with impatience. Uh was introduced to her 
accordingly, and, with a heavy heart, mentioned the ineffectual 
event of his expedition. 

^ Now the saints have pity upon us !" said the Lady Eveline ; 
''for it seems as if a plague or pest attached to me, and extended 
itself to all who interest themselves in my welfare. From the 
moment they do so, their very virtues become snares to them ; 
and what would, in every other case, recommend them to 
honour, is turned to destruction to the friends of Eveline 



^ Fear not, fair hidy," said Amelot ; ^ there are still men 
enou^ in my master's camp to put down these disturbers of the 
public peace. I will but abide to receive his instructions, and 
will hence to-morrow, and draw out a force to restore quiet in 
this part of the country." 

<* Alas 1 you know not yet the worst of it," replied Eveline. 
* Since you went hence, we have received certain notice, that 
when the soldiers at Sir Damian's camp heard of the accident 
which he this morning met with, already discontented with the 
inactive life which they had of late led, and dispirited by the 
iiurts and reported death of their leader, they have altogether 
broken up and dispersed their forces. — Yet be of good courage, 
Amelot," she said ; ^ this house ia strong enough to bear out a 
worse tempest than any that is likely to he poured on it ; and ii 
all men desert your master in wounds and afiSiction, it becomes 
yet more the part of Eveline Berenger to shelter and protect her 
deliverer." 



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130 TALES OF THE CBUSAD£B«« 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

/«t our proud trumpet shake their oastle wall, 
Menadng detih and nifai. 

Otway. 

Thm eril news with which the tost <$hapter eonduded were 
BeeeaBavily told to Dunlan de Lacy, as the person whom tiiey 
chiefly ooneerned ; and Lady Eveline herself undertook the task 
of eonnaumcating them, mingling what Ae said with tears, and 
again intermpting those tears to suggest topics of hope and eono- 
fort, which carri^ no consolation toner own bosom. 

The wounded knight co&tinned with his face turned towards 
her, listening to the disastrous tidings, as one who was no olher- 
wise affected by them, than as they regarded her who tdd the 
story. When she had done speaJdng, he continued as in a 
reverie, with his eyes so intently fixed upon her, that she rose 
up, widi the purpose of withdrawing from looks by which she 
felt herself embarrassed. He hastened to speak, that he might 
prevent her departure. '' All that you have sud, fur lady,** he 
replied, ^ had been enough if told by another, to have broken 
my heart ; for it tells me that the power and honour of my 
house, so sdemnly committed to my charge, have been Idasted 
in my misfortunes. But when I look upon you, and hear your 
voice, I forget every thing, saving that you have been rescued, 
and are here in honour and safety. Let me therefore pray of 
your goodness that I may be removed from the castle which 
holds you, and sent elsewhere. I am in no shape wcnrthy at 
your farther care, since I have no longer the swords of others at 
my diflposal, and am totally unable mr the present to draw my 
own." 

^ And if you are generous enough to think of me in your own 
misfortunes, noble knight,'' answered Eveline, ^ can you suppose 
that I forget wherefore, and in whose rescue, these wounds were 
incurred 1 No, Daroian, speak not of removal — while there is a 
turret of the Grarde Doloureuse standing, within that turret shall 
you find shelter and protection. Such, I am well assured, would 
be the pleasure of your undo, were he here in person." 

It seemed as if a sudden pang of his wound had seized upon 
Damian ; for, repeating the words <* My uncle 1" he writhed . 
himself round, and averted his face from Eveline ; then again 
composing himself, replied, ^ Aks ! knew my undo how m I 
have obeyed his precepts, instead of sheltering me within this 
house, he would conmiand me to be flung horn the battle- 
ments I" 

« Fear not his displeasure," said Eveline, again preparing to 
withdraw ; « but endeavour, by the composure of your spirit, to 
aid the healing of your wounds ; when, I doubt not, yon will be 



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YALK I. THE BBTBOTHBD. ^1 

able again to establish good order in the Ckmstable's jnrisdictiony 
long l^fore his return." 

Ske ooloured as she prononnoed the last words, and hastily 
left the apartment When she was in her own chamber, slie 
dismiased iier other attendants and retained Rose. ** What dost 
thou think of these things, my wise maiden and monitressi" 
said she. 

** I would," replied Rose, ^ either that this young knight had 
noTer entered this castle — or that, being here, he could presently 
leave it — or, that he could honourably remain here for ever." * 

^ What dost thou mean by remaining here for ever !" said 
Eveline^ sharply and hastily. 

** Let me answer that question with another — How long has 
the Constable of Chester been absent from England V* 

** Three years come Saint Clement's day,** said Eveline ; ** and 
what of that r 

« Nay, nothtog ; but " 

^ But what ! — I command you to speak out" 

** A few weeks will place your hand at your own disposal." 

^ And think you. Rose," said Eveline, rising with dignity, ** that 
there are no bonds save those which are drawn by the scribe's 
pen 1 — We know little of the Constable's adventures ; but we 
know enough to shew that his towering hopes have fallen, and his 
sword and courage proved too weak to change the fortunes of the 
Sultan Saladin. Suppose him retoming some brief time hence, 
as we have seen so many crusaders resain their homes, poor and 
broken in health — suppose that he nnds his lands laid waste, 
and his followers dispersed, hy the consequence of their kite mis 
fortunes, how would it sound should he also find that his betrothed 
bride had wedded and endowed with her substance the nephew 
whom he most trusted ! — Dost thou think such an engagement 
is like a Lombard's mortgage, which must be redeemed on the 
very day, else forfeiture is sure to be awarded !" 

^ I cannot tell, madam," replied Rose ; **\mt they that keep 
their covenant to the letter, are, in my country, held bound to no 
more !" 

^ That is a Flemish fashion. Rose," said her mistress ; ** but 
the honour of a Norman is not satisfied with an observance so 
limited. What ! wouldst thou have my honour, my affections, 
my duty, all that is most valuable to a woman, depend on the 
same progress of the kalendar which an usurer watehes for the 
purpose of soiling on a forfeited pledge ? — Am I such a mere 
commodity, that I must belong to one man if he claims me before 
Michaelmas, to another if he comes afterwards ! — No, Rose ; I 
did not thus interpret my en^gement, sanctioned as it was by 
the special providence of Our Lfuiy of the Garde Doloureuse^" 

^ It is a feeling worthy of you, my dearest lady," answered the 
attendant; <<yet you are so voung — so beset with perils — so 
much ezposea to calunmy — that I, at least, looking forward to 



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232 TALES OF THE CEUSADEM. 

the time when yon may have a legal companion and {ttoteetor, see 
it as an extrication from much doubt and danger.** 

" Do not think of it, Rose/' answered Eveline ; " do not liken 
your mistress to those provident dames, who, while one husband 
yet lives, though in old age or weak health, are prudently engaged 
in plotting for another." 

" Enough, my dearest lady," said Rose ; — "yet not sp> Per- 
mit me one word more. Since you are determined not to avail 
yourself of your freedom, even when the fatal period of your 
engagement is expired, why suffer this youiig man to share our 
solitude 1 — He is surely well enough to be removed to some other 
place of security. Let us resume our former sequestered mode 
of life, until I^^vidence send us some better or more certain 
prospects." 

Eveline nghed -^'looked down — then looking upwards, once 
more had opened her lips to express her willingness to enforce so 
reasonable an arrangement, but for Damian's ivoent wounds, and 
the distracted state of the country, when she fras interrupted by 
the shrill sound of trumpets, blown before the gate of the castle ; 
and Raoul, with anxiety on his brow, came limping to inform his 
lady, that a knight, attended by a pur8uivant-|it-arms,in the royml 
livery, with a strong guard, was in fron^ of the castle, and 
demanded admittance in the name of the King. 

Eveline paused a moment ere she replied, ^ Not even to the 
King's order shall the castle of my ancestors be opened, until 
we are well assured of the person by whom, and the purpose for 
vhich, it is demanded. We will ourself |o the gate, and learn the 
meaning of this summons — My veil, Rope ; and call my women. 
— Again that trumpet sounds ! Alas I it rings like a signal to 
death and ruin." 

The prophetic apprehensions of £)veline were not false ; for 
scarce had she reached the door of the apartment, when she was 
met by the page Amelot, in a state <^ such disordered apprehen- 
sion as an eleve of chivalry was scarce on any occasion fHBrmitted 
to display. '^ Lady, noble lady," he said, hastily bending his knee 
to Eveline, '' save my dearest mast^ t — You, and you alone, can 
save him at this extremity." 

<'I !" said Eveline, in aghinisbm ent -r- " I save him! — And 
from what danger ! — Grod knows how willingly !" 

There she stopped short, as if afraid to trust herself with 
expressing what rose to her lips. 

'* Guy Monthermer, lady, is at the gate, with a pursuivant and 
the royal banner. The hereditary enemy of the House of Lac^, 
thus accompanied, comes hither for no good — the extent of the 
evil I know not, but for evil he c^mes. My master slew hia 

nephew at the field of Malpas, and therefore" He was here 

interrupted by another flourish of trumpets, which rung, as if In 
shrill impatience, through the vaults of the ancient fortress. 

The Lady Eveline hiutted to the gate, and found that the war- 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 233 

dens, and others who attended there, were looking on eadi other 
with donbtful and alarmed countenances, which they turned upon 
her at her arrival, as if to seek from their mistress the comfort 
and the courage which they could not communicate to each other. 
Without the gate, mounted, and in complete armour, was 
an elderly and stately knight, whose raised visor and beaver 
depressed, shewed a b^uni already grizzled. Beside him appeared 
the pursuivant on horseback, the royal arms embroidered on his 
henUdic dress of office, and all the importance of offended con^ 
sequence on his countenance, whidi was shaded by his barret-cap 
and triple plume. They were attended by a body of about fifty 
soldiers, arranged under the guidon of England. 

When the Lady Eveline appeared at the barrier, the knight, 
after a slight reverence, which seemed more in formal courtesy 
than in kindness, demanded if he saw the daughter of Raymond 
Berenger. ** And is it," he continued, when he had received an 
answer in the affirmative, ''before the castle of that approved 
and favoured servant of the House of Anjou, that King Henry's 
trumpets have thrice sounded, witliout. obtaining an entrance for 
those who are honoured with their Sovereign's command !" 

* My condition," answered Eveline, ** must excuse my caution. 
I am a lone maiden, residing in a frontier, fortress. I may admit 
no one without inquiring his purpose, and being assured that his 
entrance consists with the safety of the place, and mine own 
honour." 

''Since you are so punctilious, lady," replied Monthermer, 
^know, that in the present distracted state of the^ country, it is 
his Grace the king's pleasure to place within your walls a body 
of men-at-arms, sufficient to guard this important castle, both 
from the insurgent peasants, who bum and slay,, and from the 
Welsh, who, it must be expected, will, according to their wont 
in time of disturbance, make incursions on the fh>ntiers. Undo 
your gates, then, Lady of Berenger, and suffer his Grace's forces 
to enter the castie." 

. " Sir Knight," answered the lady, " this castle, like every other 
fortress in EngUnd, is the King's by law ; but by law also I am 
the keeper and defender of it ; and it is the tenure by which my 
ancestors held these lands. I have men enough to maintain tiie 
Garde Doloureuse in my time, as my father, and my grand- 
&ther before him, defended it in theirs. The King is gracious to 
send me succours, but I need not the aid of hirelings ; ndther do I 
think it safe to admit such into my castle, who may, in this law- 
leas time, make themselves masters of it for other than its Uwful 
mistress." 

" Lady," replied the old warrior, " his Grace is not ignorant of 
the motives which produce a contumacy like this. It is not any 
apprehension for the royal forces which influences you, a royal 
vassal, in this refractory conduct I might proceed upon your 
refusal to proclaim you a traitor to the Crowns but the King 



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234 TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 

remembers the serrices of yonr fittber. Know, then, we are not 
isnorant that Damian de Laey, accused of instigating and heading 
rais insorrection, and of deserting his duty in Sie field, and aban- 
doning a noble comrade to the swords of the brutal peasants, has 
found shelter under this roof, with little credit to your loyalty 
as a vassal, or your conduct as a high-born maiden. Deliver 
him up to us, and I will draw off these men-at-arms, and dispense, 
though I may scarce answer doing so, with the occupation of the 
eastle." 

*• Guy de Monthermer," answered Eveline, ** he that throws a 
stain on my name, speaks falsely and unwortiiily ; as for Damian * 
de Lacy, he knows how to defend his own fame. This only let 
me say, that, while he takes his abode in the castle of the betrothed 
of his kinsman, she delivers him to no one, least of all to his 
well-known feudal enemy — Drop the portcullis, wardens, and let 
it not be raised without my special order.*' 

The portcullis, as she spoke, fell rattling and chmging to Uie 
ground, and Monthermer, in baffled spite, remained excluded 
from the castle. " Unworthy lady " — he began in passion, then 
checking himself, said calmly to the pursuivant, <' Ye are witnesa 
that she hath admitted that the traitor is within that castle — ye 
are witness that, lawfully summoned, this Eveline Berenger 
refuses to deliver him up. Do your duty. Sir Pursuivant, as is 
usual in such cases.'* 

The pursuivant then advanced and proclaimed, in the formal 
and fatal phrase befitting the occasion, that Eveline Bereneery 
hiwfuUy summoned, refusing to admit the King's forces into ner 
castle, and to deliver up the body of a fidse traitor, called Damiaa 
de Lacy, had herself incurred the penalty of high treason, and 
had involved within the same doom all who aided, abetted, or 
maintained her in holding out the said castle against thdr 
allegiance to Henry of Anjou. The trumpets, so soon as the 
voice of the herald had ceased, confirmed the doom he had pro- 
nounced, by a long and ominous peal, startling from their nests 
the owl and the raven, who replied to it by their ill-boding 
screams. 

The defenders of the castle looked on each other with blank 
and dejected countenances, while Monthermer, raising ak>ft ina 
lance, exclaimed, as he turned his horse from the castle gate, 
^ When I next approach the Gourde Doloureuse, it will be not 
merely to intimate, but to execute, the mandate of my, Sove- 
reign.*' 

As Eveline stood pensively to behold the retreat of Monthermer 
and his associates, and to consider what was to be done in this 
emergency, die h^urd one of the Flemings, in a low tone, ask an 
Englishman, who stood beside him, what was the meaning of a 
tiiiitor. 

<< One who betrayeth a trust reposed — a betrayer," said the 
interpreter 



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TALE I. TUB BETROTHBD. 23ft 

TEie phrase whieh he used recalled to Evdine's meooory her 
boding visioii or (keam. ^ Alas !*' she said, ^ the vengeanoe at 
the ^nd is about to be accomplished. Widow'd wife and 
^redded maid — these epithets have long been mine. Betrothed ! 
— wo 's me ! it is the key-stone of my destiny. Betrayer I am 
now denounced, though, thank Grod, I am dear from the guilt ! 
It only follows that I should be betrayed, and the evil prophecy 
will be fulfilled to the very letter." 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

Oat on ye, owla ; — Nothing but songs of death ? 

RiekardlJL 

More than three months had elapsed smce the event narrated 
in the last chapter, and it had been the precursor of others of 
still greater importance, which will evolve tliemselves in the 
course of our narrative. But, as we profess to present to the 
reader not a precise dettul of circumstances, acconSng to th«r 
order and date, but a series of pictures, endeavouring to exhibit 
the most striking incidents befm^ the eye or imagination of those 
whom it may concern, we therefore open a new scene, and bring 
other actors upon the stage. 

Along a wasted tract of country, more than twelve miles 
distant from the G^arde Doloureuse, in the heat of a summer 
noon, which shed a burning lustre on the silent valley, and the 
blackened ruins of the cottages with which it had been once 
graced, two travellers walked slowly, whose palmer cloaks, 
pilgrims' staves, large slouched hats, with a scallop shell bound 
on the front of each, above all, the cross, cut in red cloth upon 
their shoulders, marked them as pilgrims who had accompliuied 
th^ TOW, and had returned from that fatal bourne, from which, 
in those days, returned so few of the thousands who visited it, 
whether in the love of enterprise, or in the ardour of devotion. 

The pilgrims had passed, that morning, through a scene of 
devastation similar to, and scarce surpassed in misery by, those 
which they had often trod during the wars of the Cross. They 
had seen hamlets which appeared to have sufifered all the fury of 
military execution, the houses being burned to the ground ; and 
in many cases the carcasses of the miserable inhabitants, or 
ralher relics of such objects, were suspended on temporaiy 
gibbets, or on the trees, which had been allowed to remain 
standing, only, it would seem, to serve the convenience of the, 
executioners. Living creatures they saw none, excepting those 
wild denizens of nature who seemed silently resuming the now 
wasted district, from which they might have been formerly ex- 
pelled by the Qourse of civilisation. Their ears were no less dia* 



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S36 TALES OF THE CRUSADEBS. 

agreeably occupied than their eyes. The pensiTe traTeners 
might indeed hear the screams of the raven, as if lamenting the 
decay of the carnage on which he had been gorged ; and now 
and then the idaintiye howl of some dog, deprived <^ his home 
and master; but no sounds which argued either labour or 
domestication of any kind. 

The sable figures, who, with wearied steps, as it appeared, 
travelled through these scenes of desolation and ravage, seemed 
assimilated to uem in appearance. They spoke not with each 
other — l^ey looked not to each other — but one, the shorter of 
the pair, keeping about half a pace in front of his companion, 
they moved dowly, as priests returning from a sinner's death- 
bed, or rath^ as spectres flitting along uie precincts of a church- 
yard. 

At length they reached a grassy mound, on the top of which 
was plac^ one of those receptacles for the dead of the ancioit 
British chiefs of distinction, called Kist-Yaen, which are com^ 
posed of npright fragments of granite, so placed as to form a stonie 
ooflSn, or something bearing that resemblance. The sepulchre 
had been long violated by me victorious Saxons, either in scorn 
or in idle curiosity, or because treasures were supposed to be 
sometimes concealed in such spots. The huge flat stone which 
had once been the cover of the coffin, if so it might be termed, 
lay broken in two pieces at some distance from the sepulchre ; 
and, overgrown as the fragments were with grass and lichens, 
Viewed plainly that the lid obA been removed to its present situa- 
tion many years before. A stunted and doddered oak stUl 
spread its branches over the open and rude mausoleum, as if the 
Druid's badge and emblem, shattered and storm-broken, was still 
bending to ofilBr its protection to the last remnants of their 
worship. 

** This, then, is the Kitt-wun" said the shorter pilgrim ; *^ and 
here we must abide tidings of our scout. But what, Philip 
Guarine, have we to expect as an explanation of the devastation 
which we have traversed !" 

^Some incursion of the WeMi wolves, my lord," replied 
Guarine ; ^ and, by Our Lady, here lies a poor Saxon sheep whom 
they have snapped up." 

The Constable (for he was the pilgrim who had walked fore- 
most) turned as he heard his squire speak, and saw the corpse of 
a man amongst the long grass ; by which, indeed, it was so hiddoi, 
that he himself had parted without notiee, what the esquire, in 
less abstracted mood, had not failed to observe. The leath^m 
doublet of the. slain bespoke him an English peasant — the body 
. ]a.y on its face, and the arrow whidi had caused his deatii still 
stuck in his back. ' 

Philip Gruarine, with the cool indiflerenc^ of one accustomed to 
such scenes, drew the shaft from the man's back, as composedly 
as he would have removed it from the body of a deer. With 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 237 

inmilar indifferenoe the Constable signed to his esquire to tfire 
him the arrow — looked at it with indolent curiosity, and ttien 
sud, ** Thou hast forgotten thy old craft, Guarine, when thoa 
CftUest that a Welsh shaft. Trust me, it flew from a Norman 
how ; but why it should be found in the body of that English 
diurl, I can iU guess." 

^ Some runaway serf, t would warrant — some mongrel car, 
who had joined the Welsh pack of hounds,** answered the esquire. 

" It may be so," said the Constable ; ^ but I rather Mignr 
some civil war among the Lords Marchers themselves. The 
Welsh, indeed, sweep tiie villages, and leave nothing behind them 
but blood and ashes, but here even castles seem to have been 
stormed and taken. May God send us good news of the Garde 
Doloureuse I" 

^ Amen I" replied his squire ; ** but if Renault Yidal brings it, 
'twill be the first time he has proved a bird of good omen." 

« Philip," said the Constable, ** I have abready told thee thou 
art a jealous-pated fooL How many times has Vidal shewn hia^ 
faith in doubt — his address in dijficulty — ^his courage in battle— 
his patience under suffering 1" 

** It may be all very true, my lord," replied Guarine ; ** yet — 
bat what avails to speak ! — I own he has done you sometimes 
good service ; but kuUh were I that your life or honour were at 
the mercy of Renault Vidal." 

^ In the name of all the saints, thou peevish and suspicious fool, 
what is it thou canst found upon to his prejudice !" 

^ Nothing, my lord," repli^ GKiarine, ^Imt instinctive suspicion 
and aversion. The child that, for the first time, sees a snake, 
knows nothhig of its evil properties, yet he will not chase it and 
take it up as he would a butterfly. Such is my dislike of Vidal — 
I cannot help it. I could pardon the man his malicious and 
gloomy sidelong looks, when he thinks no one observes him ; but 
his sneering laugh I cannot forgive — it is like the beast we 
heard of in Judea, who laughs, they say, before he tears and 
destroys." 

** Philip," said De Lacy, ^ I am sorry for thee — sorry, from, 
my soul, to see such a predominating and causeless jealousy 
occupy the brain of a gallant old soldier. Here, in this hist mis- 
fortune, to recall no more ancient proofs of his fidelity, could he 
mean otherwise than well with us, when, thrown by shipwreck 
upon the coast of Wales, we would have been doomed to instant 
death, had the Cynuri recognized in me the Constable of Chester, 
and in thee his trusty esquire, the executioner of his commands 
against the Welsh in so many instances 1" 

^ I acknowledge," said Philip Guarine, ^ death had surely been 
our fortune, had not that man's ingenuity represented us as 
pilgrims, and, under that character, acted as our interpreter 
-^ and in that character he entirely precluded us from getting. 
kdQnaaJ&on ftom any one resvecting the state of things here. 



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238 TALES OF THE GRdSADEBS. 

which it behoved your lordthip much to know, and idiieh. 1 1 
needs say looks gloomy and suspicious enough.** 

<< Still art thou a fool, Guarine/' said the Ck>nstable; <'f(Mr» 
look you, had Vidal meant ill by us, why should he not haTe 
betrayed us to the Welsh, or suffered us, by shewing sudi 
knowledge as thou and I may have of their gibberish, to betray 
ourselves !" 

'< Well, my lord," said Gnarine, *' I may be silenced, but not 
satbfied. All the fair words he can speak — all the fine tunes he 
can pUy — Renault Vidal will be to my eyes ever a dmrk and 
suspicious man, with features always reskdy to mould themselyes 
mto the fittest form to attract confidence ; with a tongue framed 
to utter the most flattering and agreeable words at one time, and 
at another to play shrewd plainness or blunt honesty; and an eye 
which, when he thinks himself unobserved, contradicts every 
assumed expression of features, every protestation of honesty, and 
every word of courtesy or cordiality to which his tongue has 
given utterance. But I speak not more on the subject ; onfy 
I am an old mastiff, of the true breed — I love my master, but 
cannot endure some of those whom he favours ; and yonder, as I 
judge, comes Vidal, to gite us such an account of our situation, 
as it shall please him." 

A horsemap was indeed seen advancing in the path towards 
the Kist-vaen, with a hasty pace ; and his dress, in which some- 
thing of the Eastern fadiion was manifest, with the fuitastie 
attire usually worn by men of his profession, made the Ck>n8table 
aware that the minstrel, of whom uey were qieaking, was n^idly 
approaching them. 

Although Hugo de Lacy rendered this attendant no more than 
what in justice he supposed his services demanded, when he vin- 
dicated him from tlie suspicions ''thrown out by Guarine, yet at 
the bottom of his heart he had sometimes shared those suspicions, 
and was often angry at himself, as a just and honest man, for 
censuring, on the slight testimony of looks, and sometimes caiSQal 
expressions, a fidelity which seemed to be proved by many aeta 
of zeal and integrity. 

When Vidal approached and dismounted to make his obeisance, 
his master hasted to speak to him in words of fE^vour, as if con- 
scious he had been partly sharing Guarine*s unjust judgment 
upon him, by even listening to it *' Welcome, my trusty Vidal,'' 
he said ; ^ thou hast been the raven that fed us on ihe mountains 
of Wales, be now the dove that brings us good tidings in^m the 
Marches. — Thou art silent What mean these downcast looks — 
that embarrassed carriage — that cap plucked down o'er thine 
eyes ! — In God's name, man, speak ! — Fear not for me — I can 
bear worse than tongue of man may tell. Thou hast aeen me m 
the wars of Palestine, when my brave foUowras fell, manby man^ 
around me, and when I was left well-ni^ alone — and did I 
blench then! — Thou hast seen me when the ^up's keel lajr 



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TALE I. THB BETBOTHSD. 239 

LQg on the rock, and the hillows flew in foam over her deck — 
I blench then ! — No — nor will I now." 

^ Boast not," said the minstrel, looking fixedly upon the Con- 
stable, as the former assumed the port and countenance of one 
who sets Fortune and her utmost malice at defiance — ^ boast not, 
lest thy bands be made strong." 

There was a pause of a minute, during which the group formed 
at this instant a singular picture. * 

Afraid to ask, yet ashamed to $eem to fear the ill tidings 
which impended, the Constable confronted his messenger with 
person erect, arms folded, and brow expanded with resolution ; 
while the minstrel, carried beyond his usual and guarded 
apathy by the interest of the moment, bent on his master a 
keen fixed gUmoe, as if to observe whether his courage was real 
or assumed. 

Philip Guarine, on the other hand, to whom HeaTen, in as- 
signing him a rough exterior, had denied neither sense nor 
observation, kept his eye in turn firmly fixed on Vidikl, as if 
endeavouring to determine what was the character of that deep 
interest whiph gleamed in the minstrel's looks apparently, and was 
unable to ascertain whether it was that of a faithful domestic 
sympathetically agitated by the bad news with which he was 
about to afflict his master, or that of an executioner standing with 
his knife suspended over his victim, deferring his blow until he 
should discover where it would be most sensibly felt In Guarine's 
mind, prejudiced, perhaps, by the previous opinion he had enter- 
tained, the latter sentiment so decidedly pi«dominated, that he 
k>nged to raise his staff, and strike down* to the earth the servant, 
who seemed thus to enjoy the protracted sufferings of their com- 
mon master. 

At length a convulsive movement crossed the brow of the 
Constable, and Guarine, when he beheld a sardonic smile begin to 
curl "V^dal's lip, could keep sUence no longer. *< Vidal," he said, 
«thouarta " 

*^ A bearer of bad tidings," said Tidal, interruptmg him, ** there- 
fore subject to the misconstruction of every fool who cannot 
distingnish between the author of harm, and mm who unwillingly 
reports it" 

** To what purpose this delay !" said the Constable. ** Omie, 
Sir Minstrel, I wiM spare you a pang — Eveline has forsaken and 
fomtten me f 

The ministrel assented by a low inclination. 

Hugo de Lacy paced a short turn before the stone monument, 
endeavouring to conquer the deep emotion which he felt ** I 
forgive her,^* he said. <* Forgive, did I say — AJas ! I have 
no&ng to forgive. She used but the right I left in her hand — 
yes— ^ur date of engagement was out — she had heard of mpr 
losses — my defeats — the destruction of my hopes — ^the expendi^ 
tore of my wealth ; and has taken the first opportunity whieii 



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240 TALES OF THE CRUSADEBS* 

strict hw afforded to break off her engagement with one bankmpt 
in fortune and fame. Many a maiden would have done — perhaps 
in prudence should have done -^ this ; — bat tlrnt woman's name 
■hould not hare been Eveline Berenger." 

He 'leaned on his esquire's arm, and for an instant laid his head 
on his shoulder with a depth of emotion which Guarine had never 
before seen him betray^ and which, in awkward kindness, he 
^Ould only attempt to console by bidding his master ^' be of good 
courage — he had lost but a woman." 

** This is no selfish emotion, Philip," said the Constable, resum- 
ing self-command. ^ I grieve less tiiat she has left me, than that 
she' has misjudged me — that she has treated me as the pawnbroker 
does his wretched creditor, who arrests the pledge as the very 
moment elapses within which it might have been relieved. I>id 
she then think that I in my turn would have been a. credit<Sr so 
rigid 1 — that I, who, «nce I knew her, scarce deemed myself 
worthy of her when I had wealth and fame, should insist on her 
sharing my diminished and degraded fortunes ! How little she 
ever Imew me, or how selfish must she.have supposed my mis- 
fortunes to have made me ! But be it so — she is gone, and may 
die be happy. The thought that she disturbed me shall pass from 
my mind ; and I will think she has done that which I myself, as 
her best friend, must in honour have advised." 

So saying, his countenance, to the surprise of his attendants^ 
resumed its usual firm composure. 

" I give you joy," said the esquire, in a whisper to the minstrel ; 
" your evil news have wounded less deeply than, doubtless, you 
believed was possible." 

•*Alasl" replied the minstrel, "I have others and woraa 
behind." 

This answer was made in an equivocal tone of voice, corres- 
ponding to the peculiarity of his manner, and like that seeming 
emotion of a deep but very doubtful character. 

'^ Eveline Berenger is Ijhen married," said the Constable ; ** snd^ 
let me make a wild guess, — she has not abandoned the famsly, 
though she has fors&en the individual — she is still a Lacy I 
ha ! 'o Dolt that thou art, wilt thou not understand me I She ia 
married to Damian de Lacy — to my nephew 1" 

The effort with which the Constable gave breath to this sup- 
position formed a strange contrast to the constrained smile tor 
which he compelled his features while he uttered it With such 
a smile a man about to drink poison might name a health, as he 
put the fatal beverage to his lips. 

<* No, my lord — not mcMrried,** answered the minstrel, with an 
emj^asis on the word, which the Constable knew how to 
interpret. ^ 

<*No, no," he replied quickly, ''not married, perhaps, but 
engaged — troth-plighted. Wherefore not! The date of her 
old aSSance was out, why not enter into a new engag^oent I" 



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TALB I. ' THE BETROTHED. 241 

- * He Lady Eveline and Sir Damian de Lacy are not affianced 
tiiat I know of," answered bis attendant. 

This reply d^ve De Lacy's patience to extremity. 

" Dog I dost thou trifle with me !" he exclaimed : " Vile wire- 
pincher, thou torturest me 1 Speak the worst at once, or I will 
presently make thee minstrel to the household of Satan." 

Gahn and collected did the minstrel reply, — '< The Lady Eve- 
line and Sir Damian are 'neither married nor affianced, my lord. 
They have loved and hvojd together •^--f>ar amours,** 

^ Dog, and son of a dog," said De Lacy, ** thou Uest !" And, 
■eizihg the minstrel by the breast, the exasperated baron shook 
him with his whole -strength. But great as that strength was, it 
was unable to stagger Yidal, a practised wrestler, in the firm 
posture which he had assumed, any more than his master's 
wrath could disturb the composure of the minstrePs bearing. 

^ Confess thou hast Ued," said the Constable, releasing him^ 
after having effected by his violence no greater degree of agita- 
tion than the exertion of human force produces upon the Rocking 
Stones of the Druids, which may be shaken, indeed, but not 
displaced. 

* Were a lie to buy my own life, yea, the lives of all my 
tribe," said the minstrel, '^ I would not tell one. But tniu 
itself is ever termed falsehood when it counteracts the train of 
our pasnons." 

^ Hear him, Philip Guarme, hear him !" exckimed the Con- 
stable, turning hastily to his squire : '^ He tdk me of my dis- 
grace — of tlra dishonour of my house — of the depravity of 
those whom I have loved the best in the world — he teUs me of 
it with a calm look, an eye composed, an unfaltering tongue. 

— Is this — <^n it be natural 1 Is De Lacy sunk so low, that 
his dishonour shall be told by a common strolling minstrel, as 
calmly as if it were a theme for a vain ballad I Perhaps Ihou 
wilt make it one, ha !" as he concluded, darting a furious glanee 
at the minstrel. 

** Perhaps I might, my lord," replied the minstrel, " were it 
not tiiat I must record therein the disgrace of Renault Yidal, 
who served a lord without either patience to bear insults and 
wrongs, or spirit to revenge them on the authors of his shame." 

** Thou art right, thou art right, good fellow," said the Constable^ 
hastily ; '< it is vengeance now alone which is left us — And yet 
upon whom !" 

As he spoke he walked shortly and hastily to and fro ; and, 
becoming suddenly silent, stood still and wrung his hands with 
deep emotion. 

« I told thee," said the minstrel to Guarine, " that my muse 
would find a tender part at last Dost thou remember the bull- 
fight we saw in Spain. A thousand little darts perplexed and 
annoyed the noble animal, ere he received the last dc^y thrust 
from the lance of the Moorish Cavaher." 

VOL. XIX. Q 



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242 TALKS OF THB CRUSADERS. 

" Man, or fiend, be which thou wilt,'' replied Gnarine, ^ tiiai 
can thii3 drink in with pleasore, and contemplate at your ease, 
Ihe misery of another, I bid thee beware of me ! Utter thy ctJd- 
blooded taunts in some olher ear ; for if my tongue be blunt, I 
wear a sword that is sharp enough." 

<* Thou hast seen me amongst swords," answered the minstrel, 
<<and knowest how little terror they hare for such as I am." 
Yet as he spoke he drew off from the esquire. He had, in fact, 
only addre^ed him in that sort of fulness of heart, which would 
have vented itself in soliloquy if alone, and now poured itself oat 
oo the nearest auditor, without the speaker being entirely conscious 
of the sentiments which his speech excited. 

Few nlinutes had elapsed before the Constable of Chester had 
regained the calm external semblance with which, until this last 
dieadful wound, he had borne all the inflictions of fortune. He 
turned towards his followers, and addressed the minstrel with hia 
usual calmness, ^ Thou art right, good fellow," he said, ** in what 
thou saidst to me but now, and I forgive thee the taunt which 
accompamed thy good counsel. Speak out, in God's name ! and 
speak to one prepared to endure the. evil which God hath sent 
hun. Certes, a good knight is best known in battle, and a 
Christian in Uie time of trouble and adversity." 

The tone in which the Constable spoke, seemed to produce a 
corresponding effect upon the deportment of his followers. The 
minstrel dropped at once the cynical and audacious tone in which 
he had hitherto seemed to tamper witii the passions of his master ; 
and in language simple and respectful, and which even approached 
to svmpathy, informed him of the evil news which he had coUected 
during his absence. It was indeed disastrous. 

The refusal of the Lady Eveline Berenger to admit Monther- 
mer and his forces intQ her castle, had of course given circulation 
and credence to all the calumnies whidi had been circuUted to 
her prejudice, and that of Damian de Lacy ;.and there were many 
who, for various causes, were interested in spreading and support* 
ing these slanders. A laige force had been sent into the country 
to subdue the insurgent peasants ; and the knights and nobles 
despatched for that purpose, failed not to avenge to the uttermost, 
upQn the wretched plebeians, the noble blood whidi the/ had 
spilled during their temporary triumph. 

The followers of the unfortunate Wenlock were infected with 
the same persuasion. Blamed by many for a hasty and cowardly 
surrender of a post which might have been defended, th^ ende^ 
voured to vindicate themselves by alleging the hostile demon8tr»» 
tions of De Lacy's cavalry as the sole cause of their prematura 
submission. 

These rumours, supported by such interested testimony, qiread 
wide and far through the land ; and, joined to the undemable &et 
that Damian had sought refiige in the strong castle of Garde 
Doloureuse, vhich was now defending itself against* the royal 



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TALE I. THE BBTBOTHBD. 243^ 

arms, animated the numerous enemies of the house of De Lacy, 
and drove its vassals and friends almost to despair, as men re* 
daced either to disown their feudal allegiance, or renounce that 
Btm more sacred fealty which they owed to their sovereign. 

At this crisis they received intelligence that the wise and active 
monarch by whom the sceptre of England was then swayed, waa 
moving towards that part of England, at the head of a large body 
of soldiers, for the purpose at once of pressing the aege of the 
Grarde Doloureuse, and completing the suppression of the insur- 
rection of the peasantry, which Guy Monthermer had nearly 
accomplished. 

In tiiis emergency, and when the friends and dependents of the 
House of Lacy scarcely knew which hand to turn to, Rfoidid, the 
Constable's kinsman, and, after Damian, his heir, suddenly ap- 
peared amongst them, with a royal commission to raise and com- 
mand such followers of the family as might not desire to be 
involved in the supposed treason of the Constable's delegate. In 
troublesome times, men's vices are forgotten, provided they dis- 
play activity, courage, and prudence, the virtues then most 
required ; and the appearance of Randal, who was by no means 
deficient in any of these attributes, was received as a good omen 
by the followers of his cousin. They quickly gathered around 
mm, surrendered to the royal mandate such strongholds as they 
possessed, and, to vindicate themselves from any participation in 
the aUeged crimes of Damian, they distinguished themselves, 
under Randal's command, asainst such scattered bodies of pea- 
santry as still kept the field, or lurked in the mountains and 
passes ; and conducted themselves with such severity after suc- 
cess, as made the troops even of Monthermer appear gentle and 
^ment in comparison with those of De Lacy. Finally, with the 
banner of his ancient house displayed, and five hundred good 
men assembled under it, Randal appeared before the Garde 
Doloureuse, and joined Henry's camp there. 

The castle was already hardly pressed, and the few defenders, 
disabled by wounds, watching, and privation, had now the addi- 
tional discouragement to see displayed against their walls the only 
banner in England, under which they had hoped forces might be 
mustered for their aid. 

The high-spirited entreaties of Eveline, unbent by adversity 
and want, gradually lost effect on the defenders of the castle ; and 
proposals for surrender were urged and discussed by a tumultuary 
council, into which not only the inferior ofiieers, but many of tfaie 
common men, had thrust themselves, as in a period of such gene- 
ral distress as unlooses all the bonds of discipline, and leaves each 
man at liberty to speak and act for himself. To their surprise, in 
the midst of their discussions, Damain de Lacy, arisen from the 
sick-bed to which he had been so long confined, appeared among 
th^ ipale and feeble, his cheek tinged with the ghaslly look 
which IS left by long illness — he leaned on his page Ameloi 



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244 TALES OF THE CR(JSADBR3. 

** Ctentlemen/' he said, <^ and soldiers — yet why should I call yoa 
either f — Gentlemen are ever ready to die in behalf of a lady — 
soldiers hold life in soom compared to their honour." 

^ Out upon him ! out upon him !'' exclaimed some of the sol* 
, ^en, interrupting him ; *' he would have us, who are innoorait, 
die the death of traitors, and be hanged in our armour over the 
walls, rather than part with his leman." 

^ Peace, irreverent slave !" said Damian, in a voice like thun- 
der, ** or my last blow shall be a mean one, aimed against such a 
caitiff as thou art. — And you,*' he continued, addressing the rest, 
>— ^you, who are shrinking from the toils of your profession, 
because if you perust in a course of honour, death may dose 
them a -few years sooner than it needs must — you, who are 
soared liks children at the sight of a death's-head, do not suppose 
that Damian de Lacy would desire to shelter himself at the ex- 
pense of those lives which you hold so dear. Make your bargain 
with King Henry. Deliver me up to his justice, or his severity ; 
or, if you hke it better, strike my head from my body, and hurl 
it^ as a peace-offering, from the walls of the castie. To Qod, in 
his good time, will I trust for the clearance of mine honour. In 
a word, surrender me, dead or alive, or open the gates and per- 
mit me to surrender myself. Only, as ye are men, since I may 
not say better of ye, care at least for the safety of your mistress, 
and make such terms as may secure hbb safety, and save your- 
selves from the dishonour of being held cowardly and perjured 
caitiffs in your graves." 

*< Methinks the youth speaks well and reasonably," said Wilkin 

Flammock. ^Let us e'en make a grace <^ surr^idering his 

body up to tilie King, and assure thereby such terms as we can 

^ for ourselves and the lady, ere the last morsel of our provision is 

consumed." 

^ I would hardly have proposed this measure," said, or rather 
mumbled. Father Aldrovand, who had recentlpr lost four of his 
front teeth by a stone from a sling, — ^ yet, bemg so eenerously 
offered by the party principally concerned, 1 hold with me learned 
scholiast, Volenti nonJU ii^ria" 

** Priest and Fleming," said the old banner-man, Balj^ Genvil, 
** I see how the wind stirreth you ; but you deceive yourselves if 
you think to make our young nuister. Sir Damian, a scape-goat 
for your light lady. — Nay, never frown nor fume, Sur Damian ; 
if you know not your safest course, we know it for you. — Fol- 
lowers of De Lacy, throw yourselves on your horses, and two 
m^i on one, if it be necessary — we will take this stubborn boy 
in the midst ol us, and tiie dainty squire Amekyt shall be prisoner 
too, if he trouble us with his peevisli OT)po6itiQn. Then let ns 
mkd a fair sally upon the siegers. Those who can cut thdr 
way through will shift well enough ; those who fall, will be pro- 
vided for. 

A shout from the troopers of Lacy's band approved this pvo* 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 245 

ipoaal. WhOst the foUowera of Berenger expostulated in load and 
angry tone, Eyeline, summoned by the tumult, in vain endearoured 
to appease it ; and tiie anger and entreaties of Damian were equally 
lost on his followers. To each and either the answer was the 



^ Have yon no care of it — Becanse you love pair amown, is it 
reasonable you should throw away your life and ours !" So ex- 
claimed Gixpnl to De Lacy; and m softer language, but with 
equal obstinacy, the followers of Raymond Berenger refused on 
the present oocasioii to listen to the commands or prayers of his 
daughter. 

Wilkin Flammock had retreated firom the tumult, when he saw 
the turn which matters had taken. ' He left the castle by a sally* 
port, of whidi he had been intrusted with the key, and proceeded 
witfa^t obserration or opposition to the royal camp, where he 
requested access to the Sovereign. This was easily obtained, and 
WiUdn speedily found himself in the presence ol King Henry. 
The monarch was in his royal pavilion, attended by two of Ins 
sons, Ridiard and John, who aftemiiyrds swayed the sceptre of 
England with veiy different auspices. 

^ How now t — What art thou !" was the royal question. 

^ An honest man, firom tin castle of the Garde Dobureuse.*' 

^'Thou may*st be honest," replied the Sovereign,** but thou 
eomest from a nest of traitors." 

^ Such as they are, my lord, it is my purpose to put them at 
your royal disposal ; for they have no longer the wisdom to guide 
themselves, and lack alike prudence to hold out, and grace to 
submit. But I would first Imow of your grace to what torms you 
will admit the defenders of yonder garrison !" 

**To such as kings ffive to traitoTB," said Henry, sternly — 
<* sharp knives and tou^ cords." 

** Nay, my gracious lord, you must be kinder than that amounts 
to, if the castle is to be rendered by my means ; else will your 
cords and knives have only my poor body to work upon, and you 
will be as fiur as ever firam the inside of the Grarde Dokrareuse." 

The King kwked at him fixedly. ^ Thou knowest," he said, 
** the law of arras. Here, provost-marshal, stands a traitor, and 
^ yonder stands a tree." 

<* And here is a throat," said the stout-hearted Fleming, un- 
buttoning the collar of his doublet 

« By mine honour," said Prince Bichard, ** a sturdy and faith- 
ful yeoman ! It were better send such fellows their dinner, and 
then buffet it out with them for the castle, than to starve them as 
the beggarly Frenchmen famish their hounds." 

** Peace, Richard," said his father ; << thy wit is over green, and . 
thy blood over hot, to make thee my counsellor here. — And yon» 
knave, speak you some reasonable terms, and we will not be over 
strict with thee." 

<* Firsty then," said the Fleming, ^ I stipulate full and ficee par- 



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S4$ TALBS OF THE CRUSADERS. 

don for life, limb, body, and goods, to me, 'Wilkin Flammoek, and 
mj daagfater Rose." 

** A true Fleming," said Prince John ; ^ he takes care of him- 
self in the first instance." 
« His request," said the King, ^ is reasonable. What next!" 
^ Safety in life, honour, and land, for the demoiselle Ereline 



<< How, sir knave !" said the King, angrily, ^ is it for suc^ as 
thou to dictate to our judgment or clemency in the case of a noble 
Norman Lady ! Confine thy mediation to such as thysdf ; or 
rather render us this castle without farther delay ; and be assured 
thy doing so will be of more service to the traitors within, than 
weeks more of resistance, which must and shall be bootless." 

The Fleming stood silent, unwilling to surrender without some 
specific terms, yet half convinced, from the situation in which he 
had left the garrison of the Garde Doloureuse, that his admitting 
the King's forces "Would be, perhaps, the best he could do for Lady 
Eveline. 

** I like thy fidelity, feUow," said the King, whose acute eye 
perceived the struggle in the Fleming's bosom ; ^ but carry not 
thy stubbornness too far. Have we not said we will be mdous 
to yonder offenders, as far as our royal duty will permit !" 

^ And, royal father," said Prince John, interposing, ^ I pray 
you let me have the grace to take first possession of the Garde 
Doloureuse, and the wardship or forfeiture of the offending 

^ " I pray you also, my royal father, to grant John's booi\," said 
his brother Richard, in a tone of mockery. ^Consider, rojral 
father, it is the first desire he hath sliewn to approach the barriers 
of the castle, though we have ititacked them mrty times at least. 
Marry, crossbow and mangonel were busy on the former oeea- 
«ions, and it is like they wiU be silent now." 

" Peace, Richard," said the King ; '* your words, aimed at thy- 
brother's honour, pierce my heart. — John, thou hast thy boon as 
concerns the castle ; for the unhappy young lady, we will take her 
in our own charge. — Fleming, how many men wilt thou under- 
take to admit !" 

Ere Flammock could answer, a squire approached Prince. 
Ridiard, and whispered in hi| ear, yet so as to be heard by all 
present, ^ We have discovered that some internal disturbance, or 
other cause unknown, has withdrawn many of the warders finm 
the castle walls, and that a sudden attack might *' i 

^ Dost thou hear that, John !" excktimed Richard. ^ Ladders, 
man — get bidders, and to the wall. How I should delight to see 
thee on the highest round — thy knees shaking — thy hands grasp- 
ing convulsively, like those of one in an ague fit — all air around 
thee, save a baton or two of wood — the moat below — half-a-doaen 
pikes at thy throat " 

** Peace, Richard, for shame, if not for charity I" said his &ther. 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 247 

in a Ume of aog^, mingled with griei " And thou, John, get 
reidy for the assault." 

" As soon as I have put on my annour, father," answered the 
Prince ; and withdrew slowly, wi& a visage so blank as to promise 
no speed in his preparations. 

His brother laughed as he retired, and said to his squire, '' It 
wefe no bad jest, Alberick, to carry the place ere John can 
diange his silk doublet for a steel one." 

So saying, he hastily withdrew, and his father exclaimed in 
paternal distress, '^ Out, alas ! as much too hot as his brother is 
too cold ; but it is the manlier fault. — Gloucester," said he to 
that celebrated earl, " take sufficient strength, and follow Prince 
Bichard to guard and sustain him. If any one can rule him, it 
must be a knight of thy established fame. Alas, alas ! for what 
sin have I deserved the affliction of these cruel iiEimily feuds !" 

<* Be comforted, my lord," said the chancellor, who was also 
in attendance. 

** Speak not of comfort to a father, whose sons are at discord 
with each other, and agree only in their disobedience to him !" 

Thus spoke Henry the Second, than whom no wisw, or, 
generally speaking, more fortunate monarch ever sat upon the 
Sirfme of England ; yet whose life is a striking illustration, how 
family dissentions can tarnish the most brilliant lot to which 
Heaven permits humanity to aspire; and how little gratified 
ambition, extended power, and the highest reputation ui war and 
in peace, pan do towards curing the wounds of domestic 
affliction. 

The sudden and fiery attack of Richard, who hastened to the 
escalade at the head of a score of followers, collected at random^ 
had the complete offset of surprise ; and having surmounted the 
walls with their bidders, before the contending parties within 
were almost aware of the assault, the assailants burst open the 
gates, and admitted Gloucester, who had hastily followed with a 
strong body of men-at-arms. The garrison, in their state of 
surprise, confusion, and disunion, offered but little resistance, 
and would have been put to the sword, and the place plundered, 
had not Henry himself entered it, and by his personal exertions 
and authority, restrained the excesses of the dissolute soldiery. 

The King conducted himself, cpnsideiing the tunes and the 
provocation, with laudable mediation. He contented himself 
with disarming and dismissing the conunon soldiers, giving them 
some trifle to carry them out of the country, lest want should 
lead them to form themselves into bands of robbers. The 
officers were more severely treated, being for the greater part 
thrown into dungeons, to abide the course of the hiw. In parti- 
cular, imprisonment was the lot of Damian de Lacy, against 
whom, believing the various charges wi^ which he was loaded, 
Henry was so highly incensed, that he purposed to make him 
an examnle to aU false knights and disloyiJ subjects. To the 



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248 TALES OF THB CRUSADERS. 

Lady Eveline Berenger he assigned her own apartment as a 
prison, in whidi she was honourably att^ded by Rose and 
Alice, but guarded with the utmost strictness. It was generally 
reported that her demesnes would b& declared a forfeiture to the 
crown, and bestowed, at least in part, upon Randal de Lacy, 
who had done good service during the siege. Her person, it 
was thought, was destined to the seclusion of some distant Frraich 
nunnery, where she might at leisure repent her of her follies and 
her rashness. 

Father Aldrovand was delivered up to ^e discipline of his 
convent, long experience having very effectually taught Henry 
the imprudence of infringing on the privileges of the church ; 
although, when the King first beheld him with a rusty corslet 
clasped over his frock, he with difficulty repressed the desire 
to cause him be hanged over the battlements, to preach to the 
ravens. 

With Wilkin Fhunmock, Henry held much conference, parti- 
cularly on the subject of manufactures and commerce ; on which 
the sound-headed, though blunt-spoken Fleming, was well quali- 
fied to instruct an intelligent monarch. ** Thy intentions," he 
■aid, ^ shall Aot be forgotten, good fellow, though they have been 
anticipated by the headlong valour of my son Richard, which has 
oost some poor caitiffs their lives — Richard loves not to sheathe 
a bloodless weapon. But thou and thy countrymen shall return 
to thy mills yonder, with a full pardon for past offences, so that 
you meddle no more with such treasonable matters." 

^ And our privileges and duties, my liege 1" said Flammoek. 
* Your Majesty knows well we are vassals to the lord of this 
castle, and must follow him in battle." 

^ It shall no longer be so," said Henry ; ^ I will form a com- 
munity of Flemings here, and thou, Flainmock, shalt be Mayor, 
that thou may'et not plead feudal obedience for a relapse into 
treason." 

^ Treason, my liege !" said Fhunmock, longing, yet scarce Ten- 
turing, to interpose a word in behalf of Lady Eveline, for 
whom, despite the constitutional coolness of his temperament, 
he really felt much interest — '^ I would that your Grace but justly 
knew how many threads went to that woof." 

'* Peace, sirrah I — meddle with your loom," said Henry ; ^ and 
if we deign to speak to thee concerning the ^mechanical arts 
which thou dost profess, take it for no warrant to intrude farther 
on our privacy." 

The Fleming retired, rebuked, and in silence ; and the fate of 
the unhappy prisoners remained in the King's bosom. He him- 
self took up his lodging in the castle of the uarde Doloureuse, as 
a convenient station for sending abroad parties to suppress and 
extinguish all the embers of rebellion ; and so active was Randal 
de Lacy on these occasions, that he appeared daily to rise in the 
Kuig*« grace, and was gratified with considerable grants out of 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 249 

the domjuns of Berenger and tauej, which the Kmg seemed 
ahready to treat as foHeited property. Most men considered 
this growing fiivonr of Randal as a perUoos omen, both for the 
life of young De Lacy, and for the fate of the unfortunate Eve- 



CHAPTER XXX. 

A TOW, a vow —I have a vow in Heavw. 
Bliall I bringpoiary upon my loul ? 
No» not for V enice. 

Thb conclusion of the last chapter contains the tidings with 
which the minstrel greeted his unhappy master, Hueo de Lacy ; 
not indeed with the same detail of circumstances with which we 
have heen able to invest the narrative, but so as to infer the 
general and appalling £acts, that his betrothed bride, and beloved 
and trusted kinsman, had leagued together for his dishonour — 
had raised the banner of rebellion against their lawful sovereign, 
and, failing in their audacious attempt, had brought the life of 
one of them, at least, into the most imminent danger, and the 
fortunes of Ihe House of Lacy, unless some instant remedy could 
be found, to the very verge of ruin. 

Yidal marked the countenance of his master as he spoke, with 
the same keen observation which the chirurgeon gives to the 
progress of his dissecting-knife. There was grief on the Con- 
stable's features — deep grief — but without the expression of 
abasement or prostration, which usually accompanies it ; anger 
and shame were there — ^but they were both of a noble character, 
seemingly excited by his bride and nephew's transgressing ^e 
laws of aJlegianoe, honour, and virtue, rather than by the dis- 
grace and damage which he himself sustained through their 
crime. 

The minstrel was so much astonished at this change of deport- 
ment, from the sensitive acuteness of agony which attended the 
beginning of his narrative, that he stepped back two paces, and 
gazing on the Constable with wonder, mixed with admiration, 
exclauned, ** We have heard ot martyrs in Palestine, but this 
exceeds them I" 

<< Wonder not so much, good friend," said the Constable, pa- 
tiently ; ^ it is the first blow of the lance or mace which pierces 
or stuns — ^those which follow are little felt." ♦ 

** Think, my lord," said Vidal, ** all is lost — love, dominion, 
high office, and bri^t fame — so late a chief among nobles, now 
a poor palmer !" 

* 8m Note a. Jtfandrin 



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850 TALES OF THE CBUSADEB8. 

^Wonldst thou make sport with my misery f said Kago, 
stemlt J « but eyen that comes of course behind my back, and 
why should it not be endured when said to my face! — ^low, 
then, minstrel, and put it in song if you list, that Hugo de Lacy, 
having lost all he carried to Palestine, and all wbieh he left at 
home, is still lord of his own mind ; and adversity can no more 
shake him, than the breeze which strips the oak of its leaves can 
tear up the trunk by the roots.'' 

^ Now, by the tomb of my &ther,'' said the minstrel, rapturously, 
** this man's nobleness is too much for my resolve !" and steppii^ 
hastily to the Constable, he kneeled on one knee, and canent his 
hand more freely than tiie state maintained by men of De Laey's 
rank usually permitted. 

'"Here," said Tidal, ''on this hand --this noble hand — I 
r^iounce " 

But ere he could utter another word, Hugo de Lacy, vrho, 
perhaps, felt the freedom of the action as an intrusion on his 
fallen condition, pulled back his hand, and bid the ministrel, with 
a stem frown, arise, and remember that misfortune made not De 
Lacy a fit personage for a mummery. 

Renault Tidal rose rebuked. « I had forgot," he said, << the 
distance between an Armorican violer and a high Norman baron. 
I thought that the same depth of sorrow, the same burst <^ joy, 
levelled, for a moment at least, those artificial barriers by whidi 
men are divided. But it is well as it is. Live within the limits 
of your rank, as heretofore within your donjon tower and your 
fosses, my lord, undisturbed by the sympathy of any mean man 
like me. I, too, have my duties to discharge." 

'' And now to the Garde Doloureuse," said the baron, turning 
to Philip Guarine — ''God knoweth how well it deserveth the 
name ! — there to learn, with our own eyes and ears, the truth of 
these wofiil tidings. Dismount, minstrel, and give me thy palfirey 
— -I would, Guarme, that I had one for thee — as for Tidal, hu 
attendance is less necessary. I will face my foes, or my misfor- 
tunes, like a man — that be assured of, violer ; and look not so 
sullen, knave — I will not forget old adherents." 

" One of them, at least, will not forget you, my lord," replied 
the minstrel, with his usual dubious tone of look and emphasis. 

But just as the Constable was about to prick forwards, two 
persons appeared on the path, mounted on one horse, who, hidden 
by some dwarf-wood, had come very near them without being 
perceived. They were male and female ; and the man, who rode 
foremost, was such a picture of famine, as the eyes of the pilgrims 
had scaroQ witnessed in all the wasted land through which they 
had traveUed. His features, naturally sharp and thin, had disap- 
peared almost entirely among the uncombed gray beard and hairs 
with which they were oversmidowed ; and it was but the glimpse 
of a long nose, that seemed as sharp as the edge of a knife, aiid 
the twiiDding glimpse of his gray eyes, which gave ai^ intiinatioa 



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TALE 1. THE BETROTHED. 251 

of his fineaiiientB. Hb leg, in the wide M boot which endoeed 
it» k)oked like the handle of & mop left by chance in a pail — his 
anas were about the thickdees of riding-rods — and soch parts 
of his person as were not concealed by m tatters of a huntnnan's 
eaasock, seemed rather the appendages of a mommy than alive 



The female who sat behind this spectre exhibited akio some 
symptoms of extenuation ; but being a brave jolly dame natorally, 
fiunine had not been able to render her a spectacle so rueful as 
the anatomy behind which she rode. Dame Gillian's cheek Tfor 
it was the leader's old acquaintance) had indeed lost the rosy nue ' 
of good cheer, and the smoothness of complexion which art and 
easy living had formerly substituted for the more delicate bloom 
of youth ; her eyes were sunken, and had lost much of their bold 
and rogidsh lustre ; but she was still in some measure herself, 
and the remnants of former finery, together with the tight-drawn 
seariet hose, though sorely faded, Viewed still a remnant of 
coquettish pretension. 

So soon as she came within sieht of the pilgrims, she began to 
punch Raoul with the end of her ridinff-r<M. ^ Try thy new 
trade, man, since thou art unfit for any other — to the good men 
— to them — crave their charity." 

** Beg from beggars %" — ^muttered Raoul ; ^ that were hawking 
at ^[Murrows, dame." 

^ It will bring our hand in use though," said Gillian ; and 
commenced, in a whining tone, ^ Grod love you, holy men, who 
lukve had the grace to go to the Holy Land, and, what is more, 
have had the grace to come back again ; I pray, bestow some of 
your alms upon my poor old husband, who is a miserable object^ 
as you see, and upon one who has the bad luck to be his wife—* 
Heaven help me I' 

^ Peace, woman, and hear what I have to say," said the Con« 
stabte, laying his hand upon the bridle of the horse — ** I have 
present occasion for that horse, and — " 

** By the huntmg-hom of St Hubert, but thou gettest him not 
without blows !" answered the old huntsman. ^ A fine world it 
is, when pakners turn horse-stealers." 

<< Peace, fellow 1" said the Constable, sternly,—^ I say I hAve 
occasion presently for the service of thy horse. Here be two gold 
besants for a day's use of the brute ; it is well worth the fee- 
simple of him, were he never returned." 

^But the palfrey la an old acquaintance, master," said Raoul ; 
* and if perchance " 

^ Out upon if and perehauoe both," said the dame, giving her 
husband so determined a thrust as weU-nigh pushed himout ra the 
saddle. ^ Off the horse ! and thank God and this w*thy man 
for the help he has sent us in extremity. What signifies the 
palfrey, when we have not enough to get food either for the brute 
or ourselves ! not though we would eat grass and com with him. 



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262 TALES OF THB ORUSADBIUI. 

like King Somebody^ iHiom the good father used to read as to 
■leep abouf 

^ A tmoe with your prating, dame/' said Baoul, offering hia 
aematance to help her from the croupe ; but she prderred mX of 
Guarine, who, though advanced in years, retained the advantage 
of his stout soldierly figure. 

^ I humbly thank your goodness," said she, as, (having first 
kissed her,) the squire set her on the ground. ^ And, pray, sir, 
are ye come from the Holy Land ! — Heard ye any tidings there 
of him that was Constable of Chester f 

De Lacy, who was engaged in removing the pillion from behind 
the saddle, stopped short in his task, and said, ^ Ha, dame 1 what 
would you with him V* 

^ A great deal, good palmer, an I could li^t on him ; for hia 
lands and offices are all to be given, it's like, to that fiUae thie^ 
his kinsman." 

^Whatl — to Damian, his nephew I" exclaimed the Constable, 
in a harsh and hasty tone. 

^ Lord, how you startle me, tar I" said Gillian ; then con- 
tinued, turning to Philip Guarine, ^ Your friend is a hasty man, 
belike." 

<< It is the fault of the sun he has lived under so long," said the 
squire ; ^ but look you answer his questions truly, and be will 
make it the better for you." 

Gillian instantly took the hint. ^ Was it Damian de Lacy you 
asked after ! — Alas ! poor young gentleman ! no offices or hUida 
for him — more likely to have a g^ows-cast, poor lad — and all 
for nought, as I am a true dame. Damian 1 — no, no, it is not 
Damian, nor damson neither— but Randal Lacy, that nrast rule 
the roast, and have all the old man's lands, and livings, and 
lordships." 

<< What!" said the Constable— « before they know whether 
the old man is dead or no I — Methinks that were against law and 
reason both." 

^ Ay, but Randal Lacy has brought about less likely matters. 
Look you, he hath sworn to the King that they have true tidings 
of the Constable's death — ay, and let him alone to make them 
soothfiist enough, if the Constable were once within his danger." 

<< Indeed 1" said the Constable. ^ But yon are forpig tales 
on a noble gentleman. Come, come, dame, you 'say thu because 
you like not Randal Lacy." a 

** Like him not I — And what reason have I to like him, I 
trow I" answered Gillian. ^ Is it because he seduced my sim- 
plicity to let him into the castle of the Garde Doloureuse — ay, 
oftener than once or twice either, — when he was disguised as a 
pedlar, and told him all the secrets of the &mily, and how the boy 
Damian, and the girl Eveline, were dying of love with each other, 
but had not courage to say a word of it, for fear of the Constable, 
though he were a thousand miles off! — You seem oonoemed» 



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TALB I. THE BETROTHED. 253 

irorthy or — may I oflTer your reverend worship a trifling sup 
from my bottle, which is sovereign for tremor cordis and fits of 
the ndeen !" 

** No, no," ejaculated De Lacy — " I was but grieved with the 
■booting of an old wound. But, dame, I warrant me this Damian 
and Eveline, as you call them, became better, closer friends, in 
timet" 

•* They I — not they indeed, poor simpletons 1" answered the 
dame ; '' they wanted some wise counsellor to go between and 
advise them. For, look you, sir, if old Hugo be dead, as is most 
Uke, it were more natural that his bride and his nephew should 
inherit his lands, than this same Randal, who is but a distant 
kinsman, and a foresworn caiti£f to boot. — Would you think it, 
reverend pilgrim, after the mountains of gold he promised me f 
— when the castle was taken, and he saw I could serve him, no 
more, he called me old beldame, and spoke of the beadle and the 
eackhig*stool. — Yes, reverend sir, old beldame and cucking-stool 
were his best words, when he knew I had no one to take my part, 
save old Raoul, who cannot take his.'own. But if grim old Hugh 
bring back his weatherbeaten carcass from Palestine, and have 
but half the devil in him which he had when he was fool enough to 
go away. Saint Mary, but I will do his kinsman's office to hmi 1" 

There was a pause when she had done speaking. 
. <<Thou say'st," at length exclaimed the Constable, <<that 
Damian de Lacy and Eveline love each other^ yet are uncon* 
sdous <^ guilt, or falsehood, or ingratitude to me — I would say, 
to their relative in Palestine I" 

** Love, sir I — in troth and so it is — they do love each other," 
said Gillian ; '<but it is like angels — or like hunbs — or like fools, 
if you will ; for they would never so much as have spoken to- 
getiier, but for a prank of that same Randal Lacy's." 

^ How !" demanded the Ck)n8table — " a prank of Randal's ! — 
What motive had he that these two should meet !" 

^ Nay, their meeting was none of his seeking ; but he had 
formed a plan to carry off the Lady Eveline himself, for he wa9 
a wild rover, this same Randal ; and so he came disguised as a 
merchant of falcons, and trained out my old stupid Raoul, and' 
the Lady Eveline, and all of us, as if to have an hour's mirth in 
hawking at the heron. But he had a band of Welsh kites in 
readiness to pounce upon us ; and but for the sudden making in 
of Damian to our rescue, it is undescribable to think what might 
have come of us ; and Damian being hurt in the onslaught, was 
carried to the Garde Doloureuse in mere necessity; and but to 
save his life, it is my belief my lady would never have asked him 
to cross the drawbridge, even if he had offered." 

« Woman," said the Constable, ^ think what thou say'st ! If 
thou hast done evil in these matters heretofore, as I suspect from 
thine own story, think not to put it right by a train of new fiUse- 
hoodsy merely from spite at missing thy reward." 



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2.'S4 TALES OP THE CBUSADERS. 

** Palmer," said old Raool, with his broken-toned roic-j, cracficd- 
by many a hollo, ** I am wont to leave the business of tale-bearing 
to my wife Gillian, who will tongae-pad it with any shrew in 
Christendom. But thou speak'st like one having some interest 
in these matters, and therefore I will tell thee plainly, that 
although this woman has published her own shame in avowing 
her correspondence with that same Randal Lacy, yet what she 
has said is true as the gospel ; and, were it my last word, I would 
say that Damian and the Lady Eveline are innocent of all trea- 
son and all dishonesty, as is the babe unborn. — But what avails 
what the like of us say, who are even driven to the very beggmg 
for mere support, after having lived at a eood house, and in a 
good lord's service — blessing he with him t 

<* But hark you," continued the Constable, '^are there left no 
ancient servants of the house, that could speak out as well as 
you!" 

** Humph !" answered the huntsman — ^ men are not willing 
to babble when Randal Lacy is cracking his thong above theur 
heads. Many are slain, or starved to death — some disposed of 
— some spirited away. 'jBut there are the weaver Flammock and 
his daughter Rose, who know as much of the matter as we do." 

^ What t — Wilkin Fhunmock, the stout Netheriander !" said 
the Constable ; ^ he and his blunt btit true daughter Rose 1 — I 
will venture my life on their faith. Where dwell they ! — What 
has 1>een their lot amidst these changes !" 

*f And in God's name who are wm that ask tiiese questions ?" 
said Dame GilUan. ^Husband, nusband — we have been too 
free ; there is something in that look and that tone which I should 
remember." 

^ Yes, look at me more fixedly," said the Constable, throwing 
back the hood which had biiherto in some degree obscured his 
features. 

** On your knees — on your knees, Raoul. I" exclaimed Gillian, 
dropping on her own at the same time ; << it is the Constable him- 
selT, and he has heard me call him old Hugh !" 
. ^ It is all that is left of him who was the Constable, at least," 
replied De Lacy ; "and old Hugh willingly forgives your freedom, 
in connderation of your good news. Where are Flammock and 
his daughter !" 

" Rom is mth the Lady Eveline," said Dame Gillian ; " her 
ladyship, belike, chose her for bower-woman in place of me, 
although Rose was never fit to attire so much as a Dutch doll." 

"The £uthful girl!" said the Constable. "And where is 
Flammock V 

" Oh, for him, he has pardon and favour from the King," said 
Raoul ; " and is at his own house, with his rabble of weavers, 
dose beside the Battle-bridge, as they now call the place where 
your lordship quelled the Welsh." 

" Thither will 1 then," said the Constable ; ^ and will then see 



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TALB I. THE BETROTHED. 255 

what wetoome King Henry of Anjou has for an old servant 
Yoo two must accompany me." 

^ My lord/' said Gillian, with hesitation, ^you know poor folk 
are little thanked for interference with great men's affairs. I 
trust vour lordship will be able to protect us if we speak the truth; 
and uiat you will not look back with displeasure on what I did, 
acting for the best." 

** Peace, dame, with a wanion to ye I" said RaouL ^ Will you 
think of your own old sinful carcass, when you should be saving 
your sweet young mistress from shame and oppression ! — And 
for fhy ill tongue, and worse practices, his lordship knows they 
are bz«d in the bone of thee." 

^ Peace, good fellow !" said the Constable ; ^ we will not 
lodi back on thy wife's errors, and your fidelity shall be re- 
warded. — For you, my faithful followers," he said, turning 
towards Guarine and Yidal, ^when De Lacy shall receive his 
rights, of which he doubts nothing, his first wish shall be to 
reward your fidelity." 

** B^e, such as it is, has been and shall be, its own reward," 
said Yidal. ^ I will not accept favours f^m him in prosperity, 
who, in adversity, refused me his hand — our account stands yet 
open." 

' Go to, thou art a fool ; but thy profession hath a privilege 
to be hui];iorous," said the Constable, whose weatherbeaten and 
homely features looked even handsome, when animated by grati- 
tude to Heaven and benevolence towards mankind. ** We will 
meet," he said, ^at Battle-bridge, an hour before vespers — I 
shall have much achieved before that time." 

^ The space is short," said his esquire. 

" I have won a battle in yet shorter," replied the Constable. 

<* In which," said the minstrel, ** many a man has died that 
thought himself well assured of life and victory." 

** Even so shall my dangerous cousin Randid find his schemes 
of ambition blighted," answered the Constable ; and rode forwards, 
accompanied by Raoul and his wife, who had remounted their 
palfr«y, while the minstrel and squire followed a-foot» and, of 
course, much more slowly. 



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256 TALB8 OF THE CRU8ADBBB. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 



*' Oh, fear not, fear not, good Locd Joltm, 

That I would you betray. 
Or toe requital for a debt. 

Which natuie cannot pay. 

** Bear witn««, an y« laered poi*en-> 

Ye liffhto that 'gin to shine— 
This night shall prove the sacred tie 

That binds your faith and mine.'* 

Ancient Scottish BaJOad, 

Lept behind by their master, the two dependants of Hugh de 
Lacy marched on in sullen silence, like men who dislike and dis- 
trust each other, though bound to one common service, and part- 
ners, therefore, in the same hopes and fears. The disKke, indeed 
was chiefly upon Gruarine's side ; for nothing could be more 
indifferent to Renault Vidal than was his companion, farther than 
as he was conscious that Philip loved him not, and was not un- 
.likely, so far as lay in his power, to thwart some plans which be 
had neariy at heart. He took little notice of his companion, but 
hummed over to himself, as for the exercise of his memory, 
'romances and songs, many of which were composed in languages 
which Guarine, who had only an ear for his native Norman, aid 
not understand. 

They had proceeded' together in this sullen manner for neariy 
two hours, when they were met by a groom on horseback, lead- 
ing 'a saddled palfrey. ^ Pilgrims," said the man, after looking 
at them with some attention, ''which of you is called Philip 
Guarine r 

** I, for £uilt of a better," said the esquire, ** re^y to that 
name." 

^ Thy lord, in that case, commends him to you," said the groom ; 
''and sends you this token, by vdiich you shall know tiiiU I am 
his true messenger." 

He shewed the esquire a rosary, which Philip instantly reeog- 
nised as that used by the Constable. 

*^ I acknowledge the tokeA," he sud ; ** speak my master's 
pleasure." 

^ He bids me say," replied the rider, ** that his visit thrives ai> 
well as is possible, and that this very evening, by time that the sun 
sets, he wUl be possessed of his own. He denres, therefore, you 
will mount this palfrey, and come with me to the Garde Doloureuse, 
as your presence will be wanted there." 

'' It is weU« and I obey him," said the esquire, much pleased 
with the import of the message, and not dissatisfied at bemg 
separated from his travelling companion. 

^ And what charge for me I" said the minstrel, addresang tlie 
menenger. 



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TALE 1. THE BETROTHED. 257 

*< If you, as I guess, are the minstrel, Renault Vidal, you are to 
abide your master at the Battle-bridge, according to the charge 
formerly given." 

^ I will meet him, as in duty bound," was VidaPs answer ; and 
scarce was it uttered, ere the two horsemen, turning their backs 
on him, rode briskly forward, and were speedily out of sight. 

It was now four hours past noon, and the sun was declining, 
yet there was more tHan three hours' space to the time of rendez- 
vous, and the distance from the place did not now exceed four miles. 
Vidal, therefore, either for the sake of rest or reflection, withdrew 
from the path into a thicket on the left hand, from which gushed 
the waters of a streamlet, fed by a small fountain that bubbled up • 
amongst the trees. Here the traveller sat himself down, and with 
an air which seemed unconscious of what he was doing, bent his 
eye on the little sparkling font for more than half an hour, with- 
out change of posture ; so that he might, in Pagan times, have 
represented the statue of a water-god bending over his urn, and 
attentive only to tlie suppUes which it was pouring forth. At 
lengtli, however, he seemed to recall himself from this state of 
deep abstraction, drew himself up, and took some coarse food from 
his pilgrim's scrip, as if suddenly reminded that life is not sup- 
ported without means. But he had probably something at his 
heart which affected his throat or appetite. After a vain attempt 
to swallow a morsel, he threw it from him in disgust, and applied 
him to a small flask, in which he had some wine or other liquor. 
But seemingly this also turned distasteful, for he threw from him 
both scrip and bottle, and, bending down to the spring, drank 
deeply of the pure element, bathed in it liis hands and face, and 
arising from the fountain apparently refreshed, moved slowly on 
his way, singing as he went, but in a low and saddened tone, wild 
fragments of ancient poetry, in a tongue equally ancient. 

Journeying on in this melancholy manner, he at length came in 
sight of the Battle-bridge ; near to which arose, in proud and 
gloomy strength, the celebrated castle of tlie Garde Doloureuae. 
" Here, then," he said — " here, then, I am to await the proud De 
Lacy. Be it so, in God's name ! — he shall know me better ere 
we part." 

So saying, he strode, with long and resolved steps, across the 
bridge, and ascending a mound which arose on the opposite side 
at some distance, he gazed for a time upon the scene beneath — 
the beautiful river, rich with the reflected tints of the western 
sky — the trees, which were already brightened to the eye, and 
saddened to the fancy, with the hue of autumn-^ and the dark- 
some walls and towers of tlie feudal castle, from which, at times, 
flashed a glimpse of splendour, as some sentinel's arms caught and 
gave back a transient ray of the setting sun. 

The countenance of the minstrel, which had hitherto been dark 
and troubled, seemed softened by the quiet of the scene. He threw 
loose his pilgrim's dress, yet sufi^t^ring part of its dark folds ta 

VOL. XIX. it 



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25S TALES OF THB CRUSADERS. 

lutDg avoQiid him mantle-wise ; under whidi appeared hSs min- 
strri't tafoard. He took from his side a rate, and striking, from 
time to time, a Welsh descant, song at others a lay, of which we 
can offer only a few fragments, literally translated from the 
ancient language in which they were chanted, premising that they 
are in that excorsiye symboli»Ed style of poetiy, which Taliessin, 
Uewareh Hen, and other bards, had derived perhaps from the 
timeoftibelWds. 

** I aiked of mv bwp, ' Who hath injured thy cbonk?** 
And she repUea, * Tne crooked finger, which I moclced hi my tone.' 
A blade of direr may be bended — a blade of steel abideth— 
KindneM ladetb away, but Ttngeance endureth. 

«* The sweet taste of mead passeth from the lips. 

But tbey are long o(m<oded by the jtiice of wormwood ; 

The lamb is brought to the shamUes, but the wolf langedi the 

Kindness Csdeth away, but vengeance endureth. 

** I asked the red-bot hm^ whev it glimmered on the anvil, 

* Wherefore glowest thou longer than the firebrand?'— 

* I was bom in the dark mine, and the brand hi the pleasant greenwood.' 
Kindness bdeth away, but vengeance endureth. 

** I asked the green oak of the assembly, wherefore its boughs were dry and 

seared like tlie horns of the stag ? 
iind it shewed me that a small worm had gnawed its roots. 
The boy who remonbered the scourge, undid the widtat of the castle at addnigfat. 
Kindness &deth away, but vengeance endureth. 

** Lightning destroyeth templet, though their spires pierce the dou^ ; 
Storms destroy armadas, though their sails intercept the gale. 
He that is in his glory falleth, and that by a contemptible enemy. 
Kindness fideth away, but vengeanee endureth.** 

More of the same wild images were thrown oat, eadi bearing 
some analogy, however fanciful and remote, to the theme, whidi 
occurred like a chorus at the close of each stansa ; so that the 
poetry resembled a piece of music, which, after repeated excur- 
sions through fanciful variations, returns ever and anon to the 
simple melody which is tlie subject of ornament. 

Ab the minstrel sung, his eyes were fixed on the bridge and its 
vicinity ; but when, near the close of his chant, he raised up his eyes 
towards the distant towers of the Grarde Doloureuse, he saw that 
the gates were opened, and that there was a mastering of guards 
and attendants without die barriers, as if some expedition were 
about to set forth, or some person of importance to appear on the 
scene. At the same time, glancing his eyes around, he discovered 
that the huidscape, so solitary when he first took his seat on the 
gray stone from which he overlooked it, was now becoming filled 
with figures. 

During his reverie, several persons, solitary and in groups, 
men, women, and children, bad begun to assemble themscOvee on 
both aides of the river, and were loitering there, as if expecting 
some spectacle. There was also much bustling at the Flemings* 
miUa^ whieh« though at some distance, were also completely under 



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TALB I. THE BETROTHED. 96» 

hki eye. A procesaioii fleemed to be arranging itself ^ere, which 
soon began to move forward, with pipe and tabor, and various 
other iufttmmeBts of music, and soon approached, in regular order, 
the place where Vidal was seated. 

It appeared the business in hand was of a pacific character ; 
for the gray-bearded old men of the little settlement, in their 
decent russet gowns, came first after the rustic band of music, 
walking in ranks of three and three, supported by their staves, 
and regulating the motion of the whole procession by their sober 
and stud pace. After these fathers of the settlement came Wilkin 
FUunmock, mounted on his mighty war-horse, and in complete 
armour, save his head, like a vassal prepared to do military ser- 
vice for his lord. A^r him followed, and in battle rank, the 
flower of the Uttle colony, oonsistiug of thirty men, well armed 
and appointed, whose steady march, as well as their clean and 
glittering armour, shewed steadiness and discipline, although they 
lacked alike the fiery glance of tiie French soldiery, or the look 
of dogged defiance which characterized the English, or the wild 
ecstatic impetaosi^ of eye which then distinguished the Welsh. 
The mothers and the maidens of the colony came next ; then 
followed ihe children, with faces as chubby, and features as serious, 
and steps as grave as their parents ; and last, as a rear-guard, came 
the youths £rom fourteen to twenty, armed with light lances, bows, 
and similar weapons becoming their age. 

Thia procession wheeled around uie base of the mound or 
embankment on which the minstrel was seated ; crossed the 
Inridge with the same slow and r^ular pace, and formed them- 
selves into a doable Une, fiunng inwards, as if to receive some 
person of consequence, or witness some ceremonial. Flammock 
remamed at the extremity of the avenue thus formed by his 
countrymen, and quietly, yet earnestly, engaged in making 
arrangementa and preparations. 

In the meanwhile, stragglers of different countries began to 
draw together, apparently brought there by mere curiosity, and 
formed a motley assembh^ at the farther end of the bridge, which 
waa that nearest to the castle. Two English peasants passed very 
near the stone on which Vidal sat. — ** Wilt thou sing us a sons, 
minstrel," said one of them, " and here is a tester for thee r' 
throwing into his hat a small silver coin. 

^ 1 am under a vow," answered the minstrel, ** and may not 
practise the gay science at present.*' 

*^ Or you are too proud to play to English churls," said the 
elder peasant, '* for thy tongue smacks of me Norman." 

*^ Keep the coin, nevertlieless," said the younger man. ^ Let 
the palmer have what the minstrel refuses to earn." 

** I pray you reserve your bounty, kind friend," said Vidal, " I 
need it not ; — and tell me of yuur kindness, instead, what matters 
are g<>ing forward here." 

*< Why, know you not that we have got our Constable De Lacy 



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tf?0 TALES OP THE CRUSADimS. 

a?ain, and that he is to grant solemn investiture to the FtennA 
weavers of all these fine things Harry of Anjou has given I — 
Had Eklward the Confessor been alive, to give the Netherland 
knaves their guerdon, it would have been a cast of the gallows- 
tree. But come, neighbour, we shall lose the show." 

So saying, they pressed down the hill. 

Yidal fixed his eyes on the gates of the distant castle ; and the 
distant waving of banners, and mustering of men on horseback, 
though imperfectly seen at such a distance, apprized him that one 
of note was about to set forth at the head of a considerable train 
of military attendants. Distant flourishes of trumpets, which 
came faintly yet distinctly on his ear, seemed to attest the same. 
Presently he perceived, by the dust which began to arise in 
columns betwixt the castle and the bridge, as well as by the 
nearer sound of the clarions, that the troop^was advancing towards 
him in procession. 

VidaJ, on his own part, seemed as if irresolute whether to retain 
his present position, where he commanded a fiill but remote view 
of the whole scene, or to obtain a nearer but more partial one, 
by involving himself in the crowd which now closed around on 
either hand of the bridge, unless where the avenue was kept open 
by the armed and arrayed Flemings. 

A monk next hurried past Vidal, and on his inquiring as 
tf»rmerlv the cause of the assembly, answered, in a muttering 
tone, from beneath his hood, that it was the Constable De Lacy, 
who, as the first act of his authority, was then and there to deliver 
to the Flemings a royal charter of their immunities. 

'< He is in haste to exercise his authority, methinks," said the 
minstrel. 

" He that has just gotten a sword is impatient to draw it," 
replied the monk, who added more which the minstrel understood 
imperfectly ; for Father Aldrovand had not recovered the injufy 
which he had received during the siege. 

Vidal, however, understood him to say, that he was to meet the 
Constable there, to beg his favourable intercession. 

** I also will meet him," said Renault Vidal, rising suddenly 
from the stone which he occupied. 

'^ Follow me then," mumbled the priest ; '^ the Flemings know 
me, and will let me forward." 

But Father Aldrovand being in disgrace, his influence was 
not so potent as he had flattered himself ; and both he and the 
minstrel were jostled to and fro in the crowd, and separated 
from each other. 

Vidal, however, was recognized by the English peasants who 
had before spoke to him. " Canst tliou do any jugglers' feats, 
minstrel ?" said one. " Thou may'st earn a fair largess, for our 
Norman masters love jonylerie.^* 

" I know but one," said Vidal, ** and I will shew it, if you will 
yield me some room." 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 261 

They crowded a littie off from him, and gave him time to 
throw a^de his bomiet, bare his legs and knees, by stripping off 
the leathern buskins which swathed them, and retaining only his 
sandals. He then tied a parti-coloured handkerchief around his 
swarthy and sunburnt hair, and casting off his upper doublet, 
shewed his brawny and nervous arms naked to the shoulder. 

But while he amused those immediately about him with these 
preparations, a commotion and rush among the crowd, together 
witii the close sound of trumpets, answered by all the Flemish 
instruments of music, as well as the ^outs in Norman and 
English, of '' Long live the gallant Constable ! — Our Lady for 
the bold De Lacy !*' announced that the Constable was close at 
hand. 

Yidal made incredible exertions to approach the leader of tlie 
procession, whose morion, distinguished by its lofty plumes, and 
right hand holding his truncheon, or leadiiig-staff, was all he 
couid see, on account of the crowd of officers and armed men 
around him. At lent^th his exertions prevailed, and he came 
within three yards of the Constable, who was then in a small 
circle which had been with difficulty kept clear for tlie purpose of 
the ceremonial of the day. His back' was towards the minstrel, 
and he was in tlie act of bending from his horse to deliver the 
royal charter to Wilkin Flammock, who had knelt on one knee to 
receive it the more reverentially. His discharge of this duty 
occasioned the Constable to stoop so low that his plume seemed 
in the act of mixing with the flowing mane of his noble charger. 

At this moment, Yidal threw lumself with singular agility, 
over the heads of the Flemings who guarded the circle ; and, ere 
an eye could twinkle, his right knee was on the croupe of tlie 
Constable's horse — the grasp of his left hand on the collar of De 
Lacy's buff-coat ; then, clinging to its prey like a tiger after its 
leap, he drew, in the same instant of time, a short, sharp dagger 
— and buried it in the back of the neck, just where the spine, 
which wa» severed by the stroke, serves to convey to the trunk 
of the human body the mysterious influences of the brain. The 
blow was struck with the utmost accuracy of aim and strength of 
arm. The unhappy horseman dropped from his saddle, without 
groan or struggle, like a buU in the amphitheatre, under the steel 
of ttiQ tauridor ; and in the same saddle sat liis murderer, bran- 
dishing the bloody poniard, and ureing the horse to speed. 

There was indeed a possibility of his naving achieved his escape, 
■o much were those around paralyzed for the moment by tlie 
suddenness and audacity of the enterprise ; but Flammock's pre- 
sence of mind did not forsake him — he seized the horse by tlie 
bridle, and, aided by those who wanted but an example, made the 
rider prisoner, bound his arms, and called aloud that he must be 
carried before King Henry. This proposal, uttered in Flam- 
m'lck's strong; and decided tone of voice, silenced a thousand wild 
cries of murder and treason, which had arisen while the diffei-eni 



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i^ TALES OP THE CRl/ftADURS. 

and hostile natives, of which the crowd was composed, threw apon 
each other reciprocally the chai^ of treachery. 

All the 8^?eaiii8, however, now assembled in one channel, and 
poured with unanimous assent towards the Garde Dolooreuse, 
excepting a few of the murdered nobleman's tnun, who remained 
to transport their master's body, in decent solemnity of moumingy 
from the spot which he had aou^t with so much pomp and 
triumph. 

When Flammock reached the Garde Dolonreuse, he was readily 
admitted with his prisoner, and with such witnesses as he had 
selected to prove the execution of the crime. To his request of 
an audience, be was answered, that the King had commanded that 
none should be admitted to him for some time ; yet so singular 
were the tidings of the Constable's slaughter, that the captain of 
the guard ventured to interrupt Henry's privacy, in order to 
communicate that event ; and returned with orders that Flam- 
mock and his prisoner should be instantly admitted to the royal 
apartment. Here they found Henry, attended by several persons, 
who stood respectfully behind the royal seat, in a darkened part 
of the room. 

When Flammock entered, his large bulk and massive limbs 
were strangely contrasted with cheeks pale with horror at what 
he had just witnessed, and with awe at finding himself in the royal 
presence-chamber. Beside him stood his pri 'Uer, undaunted by 
the situation in whidi he wan plnced. The blood of his victim, 
which had spirted from the wouua, was visible on his bare limbs 
and his scanty garmentu ; but particularly upon his brow, and the 
handkerchi^ with which it was bound. 

Henry gazed on him with a stem look, which the other not 
only endured without dismay, but seemed to return with a frown 
of defiance. 

'' Does no one know tiiis caitiff !" said Henry, looking around 
him. 

There was no immediate answer, until Philip Guarine, stepping 
from the group which stood behind the royal chair, said, tliough 
with hesitation, ^ So please you, my liege, but for the strange 
guise in which he is now arrayed, I should say there was a house- 
hold minstrel of my master, by name Benault Yidal." 

^ Thou art deceived, Norman," replied the minstrel ; ** my 
menial place and base lineage were but assumed — I am Gad- 
wallon the Briton — Cadwallon of the Nine Lays — Cadwallon, 
the chief bard of Gwenwyn of Powys-land — and his avenger !" 

As he uttered the last word, his looks encountered those of a 
palmer, who had gradually advanced frx)m the recess in which the 
attendants were* stationed, and now confronted him. 

The Welshman's eyes looked so eagerly ghastly as if flying 
from their sockets, while he exclaimed, in a tone of surprise, 
min|;led with honxHr, " Do the dead come before monarchs ! — 
Or, if thou art alive, wkom bave I slain I— I dreamed not, surely. 



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TALE I. THfi BETROTHED. 26S 

«f that bound, and of that home blow ! — yet my rictlm stands 
before me ! Have I not slain the Constable oi Chester f 

** Thoa hast indeed slain the Constable/* answered the Kiikg ; 
** but know, Welshman, it was Bandal de Lacy, on whom that 
doBTgd was this morning conferred, by our belief of our loyal and 
faithful Hugh de Lacy's having been lost upon his return from 
the Holy Land, as the vessel in which he had taken passage was 
reported to have saffered shipwreck. Thou hast cut short 
Randal's brief elevation but by a few hours ; for to-morrow's 
son would have again seen him without land or lordship.'* 

The prisoner dropped his head on his bosom in evident despair. 
** I thought,*' he murmured, ** that he had changed his slough, 
and eome forth so glorious bH too soon. May the eyes drop out 
that were cheated with those baubles, a plumed cap and a 
lacquered baton !" 

*< I will take care, Welshman, thine eyes cheat thee not again," 
said the King, sternly ; ^ before the night is an hour older, they 
shall be olos^ on all that is earthly." 

^ May 1 request of your nobleness," said the Constable, ** that 
you will permit me to ask the unhappy man a few questions I" 

^ When I have demanded of him myself/' said the King, ** why 
he has dipt his hands in the blood of a noble Norman." 

** Because he at whom I aimed my blow," said the Briton, his 
eye glancing fiercely from the King to De Lacy, and back, ^ had 
spilled the blood of the descendant of a thousand kings ; to which 
his own gore, or thme, proud Count of Anjou, is but as the puddle 
oi the hiffhway to the silver fountain." 

Henrjrs eye menaced the audacious speaker ; but the King 
reined in his wrath when he beheld the unploring look of his ser- 
vant— « What wouldst tiiou ask of him?" he sud ; « be brief, 
for his time is short" 

<* So please you, my liege, 1 would but demand wherefore he 
has for years forborne to take the life he aimed at, when it was 
in his power — nay, when it must have been lost but fbr his 
seemingly futhful s^rice !" 

*< Norman," said Cadwallon, ** I will answer thee. When I 
first took upon me thy service, it was well my purpose to have 
shun thee that night There stands the man,'^ pointing to Philip 
Guarine, ^ to whose vigihmce thou owed'st thy safety.'" 

<* Indeed," said De Lacy, « I do remember some indications of 
such a purpose ; but why didst thou forego it, when following 
opportnnities put it in thy power !" 

** When Ihe slayer of my sovereign became God's soldier," 
answered Gadwallon, " and served his cause in PiUestine, he was 
safe from my earthly vengeance." 

** A wonderful forbearance on the part of a Welsh assassin !" 
•aid the King, scornfully. 

''Ay," answered Cadwallon; «and which certain Christian 
priaoea have soaroe attained to, who have never neglected th« 



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264 TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 

chance of pfllage or conquest afforded by the absence of a rival 
in the Holy Crwsade/' 

"Now, by the Holy Rood" — said Henry, on the point of 
bursting out, for tlie insult affected him peculiarly; but, sud- 
denly stopping, he said, with an air of contempt, " To the gallowa 
with the knave I" 

"But one other question," said De Lacy, "Renault, or by 
whatever name thou art called. Ever since my return thou has4 
rendered me service inconsistent with thy stem resolution upon 
my life — thou didst aid me in my shipwreck — and didst guide 
me safely through Wales, where my name would have ensured 
my death ; and all this after the crusade was accomplished !" 

" I could expUin thy doubt," said the bard, " but that it mi|^t 
be thought I was pleading for my life." 

" Hesitate not for that," said the King ; " for were our Holy 
Father to intercede for thee, his prayer were in vain." 

" Well then," said the bard, " know the truth — I was too 
proud to permit either wave or Welshman to share in my 
revenge. Know also, what is perhaps Cadwallon's weakness — 
use and habit had divided my feelings towards De Lacy, between 
aversion and admiration. I still contemplated my revenge, but 
as something which I might never complete, and which seemed 
leather an image in the clouds, than an object to which 1 must 
one day draw near. And when I beheld thee," he said, turning 
to De Lacy, " this very day so determined, so sternly resolved, to 
bear thy impending fate like a man — that you seemed to me to 
resemble the last tower of a ruined palace, still holding its head 
|o heaven, when its walls of splendour, and its bowers of delight, 
lay in desolation around — ma} I perish, I said to myself in 
secret, ere I perfect its ruin ! Yes^ De Lacy, then, even then 
— but some hours since — hadst thou accepted my proffered 
hand, I had served thee as never follower served master. Yon 
rejected it with scorn — and yet notwithstanding that insult, it 
required that I should have seen you, as I thought, trampling 
over the field in which you slew my master, in the full pride <^ 
Norman insolence, to animate my resolution to strike the blow, 
which, meant for you, has slain at least one of your usurping 
race. — I will answer no more questions — lead on to axe or 
gallows — it is indifferent to Cadwallon — my soul will soon be 
with my free and noble ancestry, and with my bdoved and royal 
patron." 

" My liege and prince," said De Lacy, bending his knee to 
Henry, " can you hear this, and refuse your ancient servant one 
request! — Spare this man! — Extinguish not sudi a light, 
because it is devious and wild." 

" Rise, rise, De Lacy ; and shame thee of thy petition," said the 
King. " Thy kinsman's blood — the blood of a noble Norman, is on 
the Welshman's hands and brow. As T am crowned King, he diaU 
die ere it is wiped off. — Here ! have him to present execution t^ 



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TATJ5 I. THE BETROTHED. 265 

CadwaOon was instaDtly withdrawn- under a guard. The 
Constable seemed, by action rather than words, to continue his 
intercession. 

** Thou art mad, De Lacy — thou art mad, mine old and true 
friend, to urge me thus,'* said the King, compelling De Lacy to 
rise. ** See'st thou not that my care in this matter is for thee ! 
— This Randal, by largesses and promises, hath made many 
finends, who will not, perhaps, easily again be brought to your 
allegiance, returning as thou dost, diminished in power and 
wealth. Had he lived, we might have had hard work to deprive 
him entirely of the power which he had acquired. We Uiank 
the Welsh assassin who hath rid us of him ; but his adherents 
would cry foul play were the murderer spared. When blood 
is paid for blood, all will be forgotten, and their loyalty wiU once 
inm« flow in its proper channel to thee, their lawful lord.'* 

Hugo de Lacy arose from his knees, and endeavoured respect- 
fuUy to combat the politic reasons of his wily sovereign, which 
he plainly saw were resorted to less for his sake than with the 
prudent purpose of effecting the change of feudal authority, with 
the least possible trouble to the counl^y or Sovereign. 

Henry listened to De Lacy's arguments patiently, and com- 
bated them with temper, until the death-drum began to beat, and 
the castle bell to toU. He then led De Lacy to the window ; on 
wbich, for it was now dark, a strong ruddy light began to gleam 
from without A body of men-at-arms, each holding in his hand 
a blazing torch, were returning along the terrace from the execu- 
tion of the wild but high-sourd Briton, with cries of ** Long live 
King Henry ! and so perish all enemies of the gentle N<»man 
inen !" 



CONCLUSION. 

A mn hath aei— a itar bath riaen, 

O, Geraktine I siiice aims of thine 

Have been the lovely lady's prisoii. 

CoLBBioea. 

Popular fame had erred in assigning to Eveline Berenger, 
alter the capture of her castle, any confinement more severe man 
that of her aunt the Lady Abbess of the Cistertians' convent 
afforded. Yet that was severe enough; for maiden aunts, 
whether abbesses or no, are not tolerant of the species of errors 
of which Eveline was accused ; and the innocent damosel was 
brought in many ways to eat her bread in shame of countenance 
and bitterness of heart. Every day of her confinement was 
rendered less and less endurable by taunts, in the various forms 
of sympathy, consolation, and exhortation ; but which, stript of 
their assumed forms, were undisguised anger and insult. The 
company of Rose was all which Eveline had to sustain her under 



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2G6 TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 

these inflietioDS, and that was at length withdrawn on the very 
morning when so many important evente took phiee at the Garde 
Doloureuse. 

The unfortunate young lady inquired in vain of a grim-faoed 
Aun, ^o appeared in Rose's place to assist her to dress, why her 
companion and friend was debarred attendance. The nan 
obsOTved on that score an obstinate silence, but threw out many- 
hints on the importance attached to the vain ornaments of a frail 
child of cky, and on the hardship that even a spouse of Hearen 
was compelled to dirert her thoughts from her higher duties, and 
condescend to fasten clasps and adjust veils. 

The Lady Abbess, however, told her niece after matins, tiiat 
her attendant had not been witiidrawn from her for a space only, 
but was likely to be shut up in a house of the severest profes- 
sion, for having afforded her mistress assistance in recaving 
Damian de Lacy into her sleeping apartment at the castle of 
Baldringham. 

A soldier of De Lacy's band, who had hitherto kept what he 
had observed a secret, being off his post that night, had now in 
Damian's disgrace found he might benefit himself by telling the 
etory. This new blow, so unexpected, so afflictive — this new 
charge, which it was so difficult to explain, and so impossible 
utteriy to deny, seemed to Eveline to seal Biunian's fate and her 
own ; while the thought that she had involved in ruin her single- 
hearted and high-soid'd attendant, was all that had been wanting 
tojproduce a state which approached to the apathy of despair. 
** Think of me what you will," she said to her aunt, ^ I will no 
longer defiend myself — say what you will, I will no longer reply 
— carry me where you will, I will no longer resist — God wiD, 
in his good time, clear my fame — may he forgive my perse- 
cutors r 

After this, and during several hours of that unhappy day, the 
Lady Eveline, pale, cold, silent, glided from chapel to refectory, 
from refectory to chapel again, at the slightest beck of the 
Abbess or her official sisters, and seemed to regard the various 
privations, penanees, admonitions, and reproaches, of which she, 
in the course of that day, was subjected to an extraordinary 
share, no more than a marble statue minds the inclemency of the 
external air, or the rain^lrops which fall upon it, thou^ they 
must in time waste and consume it. 

The Abbess, who loved her niece, although her affection 
shewed itself often in a vexatious manner, became at length 
alarmed — countermanded h^ orders for removing Eveline to 
an inferior cell — attended herself to see her hud in bed, (in 
which, as in every thing else, the young lady seemed entirely 
passive,) and, with something like reviving tenderness, kissed 
and blessed her on leaving &e apartment. Slight as the mark 
of kindness was, it was unexpected, and» like the rod oi Moses, 
opened the hidden fountains of waters. Eveline wept, a resource 



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TALK I. THB BETROTHED. 267 

whidi had been that day dented to her — she prayed — and, 
finally, sobbed herself to sleep, like an infant, with a mind some- 
what tranqoilliaed by having given way to this tide of natural 
emotion. 

She awoke moro than once in the ni^t to recall minsled and 
gloomy dreams of cells and of eastles, cl funerals and of bridals, 
of coronets and of racks and gibbets ; but towards morning she 
fell into sleep more sound ^hoji she had hitherto enjoyed, and 
her visicms partook of its soothing character. The Lady of tlie 
Grarde Doloureuse seemed to smile on her amid her dreams, and 
to promise her votaress protection. The shade of her father 
was there also ; and with the boldness of a dreamer, she saw the 
paternal resemblance with awe, but without fear ; his lips moved, 
and she heard words — their import she did not fully compre- 
hend, save that they spoke of hope, consolation, and approaching 
happiness. There also gUded in, with Inrigfat blue eyes fixed 
upon hers, dressed in a tunic of saffron-coloured silk, with a 
mantle <^ cerulean bhie of antique fSuhion, the form of a female, 
resplendent in that delicate species of beauty which attends the 
fairest complexion. It was, she thought, the Britoness Yanda ; 
but her countenance was no longer resentful — her long yellow 
hair flew not loose on her shoulders, but was mysteriously 
Inraided with oak and mistletoe ; above all, her right hand was 
gracefully disposed of under her mantle; and it was an un- 
mutilated, unspotted, and beautifully formed hand which crossed 
the brow of Eveline. Yet, under these assurances of fiavour, a 
thrill of fear passed over h^ as fbe vision seemed to repeat, or 
chant, 

*' Widow'd wffe and wedded midd. 
Betrothed, betraver, and betrayM, 
AU i» done that has been aid ; 
Yanda's wrong has been y-wrokm — 
Take her peamn by this token.** 

She b^lt down, as if to kiss Eveline, who started at that instant, 
and then awoke. Her hand was indeed gently pressed, by one 
as pure and white as her own. The blue eyes and fair hair of a 
lovely female face, with half-veiled bosom and dishevelled locks, 
flitted through her vision, and indeed its lips approached to those 
of the lovely sleeper at the moment of her awakening ; but it was 
Rose in whose arms her mistress found herself pres^d, and who 
moistened her tsuDe with tears, as in a passion of affection she 
covered it with kisses. 

<<What means this, BoseT said Eveline; ^'Oiank God, 
you are restored to me ! — But what mean these bursts of 
weeping I" 

^ Let me weep — ^ let me weep," said Rose ; ^ it is long since I 
have wept for joy, and long, I trust, it will be ere I again weep 
for sorrow. News are come on the spur from the Ghirde Dolou- 
reuse — Amelot has brought them — he is at liberty — so is his 



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268 TALES OF THE GRaSADBRS. 

master, and in high favour with Henry. Hear yet more, hut let 
me not tell it too nastily — You grow pale." 

** No, no,'* said Eveline ; ^ go on — go on — I think I under- 
stand you — T think I do." 

^ The villain Randal de Lacy, the master-mover oi all our sor- 
rows, will plague you no more ; he was slain by an honest Welsh- 
man, and grieved am I that they have hanged the poor man for 
his good service. Above all, the stout old Constable is himself 
returned from Palestine, as worthy, and somewhat wiser, than he 
was ; for it is thought he will renounce his contract with your 
jiadyship." 

^ Silly girl," said Eveline, crimsoning as high as she had been 
before pale, ^ jest not amidst such a tale. • — But can this be 
reality! — Is Randal indeed slain! — and the Constable re- 
turned!" 

These were hasty and hurried questions, answered as hastily 
and confusedly, and broken with ejaculations of surprise and 
thanks to Heaven, and to Our Lady, until the ecstasy of delight 
sobered down into a sort of tranquil wonder. 

Meanwhile Damian Lacy also had his explanations to receive, 
and the mode in which they were conveyed had something remark- 
able. Damian had for some time been the inhabitant of what our 
age would have termed a dungeon, but which, in the ancient 
days, they called a prison. We are perhaps censurable in making 
the dwelling and the food of acknowledged and convicted guilt 
more comfortable and palatable than what the parties could nave 
gained by any exertions when at large, and supporting themselves 
by honest labour ; but this is a venial error compared to that of 
our ancestors, who, considering a charge and a conviction as 
synonymous, treated the accu^ before sentence in a manner 
which would have been of itself a severe punishment after he was 
found guilty. Damian, therefore, notwithstanding his high birth 
and distinguished rank, was confined after the manner of uie most 
atrocious criminal, was heavily fettered, fed on the coarsest food, 
and experienced only this alleviation, that he was permitted to 
indulge his misery in a solitary and separate cell, the wretched 
furniture of which was a mean bedstead, and a broken table and 
chair. A coffin — and his own arms and initials were painty 
upon it — stood in one comer, to remind him of his approaching 
fate ; and a crucifix was placed in another, to intimate to him that 
there was a world be^'ond that which must soon close upon him. 
No noise could penetrate into the iron silence of his prison — no 
rumour, either touching his Own fate or that of his friends. 
Charged with being taken in open arms against the King, he 
was subject to military law, and to be put to death even without 
the formality of a hearing ; and he foresaw no milder conclusion 
to his imprisonment. 

This melancholy dwelling had been the abode of Damian for 
nearly a month, when^ strange as it may seem, his healthy which 



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TALK I. THE BETROTHED. 269 

bad suffered macU from his wounds, began gradually to imnrovey 
either benefited bv the abstemious diet to Munich he was reduced, 
or that certainty, however melancholy, is an evil better endured 
by many constitutions than the feverish contrast betwixt passioii 
and duty. But ti^ term of his imprisonment seemed drawing 
speedily to a close ; his jailer, a sullen Saxon of the lowest order, 
in more words than he had yet used to him, warned him to look 
to a speedy change of dwelling ; and the tone in which he spoke 
convinced the prisoner there was no time to be lost He de 
II landed a confessor, and the jailer, though he withdrew without 
reply, seemed to intimate by his manner that the boon would be 
granted. 

Next morning, at an unusually early hour, the chains and bolts 
of the cell were heard to clash and groan, and Damian was 
startled from a broken sleep, which he had not enjoyed for above 
two hours. His eyes were bent on the slowly opening door, as 
if he had expected the headsman and his assistants ; but the jailer 
ushered in a stout man in a pilgrim's habit 

^ Is it a priest whom you bring me, warden !" said the unhappy 
prisoner. 

^He can best answer the question himself,'* said the surly 
official, and presently withdrew. 

The pilgrim remained standing on the floor, with his back to 
the small window, or rather loophole, by which- the cell was 
imperfectly lighted, and gazed intently upon Damian, who was 
seated on the side of his bed ; his pale cheek and dishevelled hair 
bearing a melancholy correspondence to his heavy irons. He 
returned the pilgrim's gaze, but Uie imperfect light only shewed 
him that his visiter was a stout old man, who wore the scallop- 
shell on his bonnet, as a token that he had passed the sea, and 
carried a palm branch in his hand, to shew he had visited the 
Holy Land. 

^ Benedicite, reverend father,'' said the unhappy young man ; 
" are you a priest come to unburden my conscience ?" 

*< I am not a priest," replied the Palmer, ** but one who brings 
you news of discomfort." 

" You bring them to one to whom comfort has been long a 
stranger, and to a place which perchance never knew it," repUed 
Damian. 

<' I may be the bolder in my communication," said the Palmer ; 
^ those in sorrow will better hear ill news than those whom they 
8ur{irise in the possession of content and happiness." 

** Yet even ^e situation of the wretched," said Damian, ** can 
be rendered more wretched by suspense. I pray you, reverend 
sir, to speak the worst at once — If you come to announce the 
doom of this poor frame, may God be gracious to the spirit which 
must be violently dismissed from it !" 

** I have no such charge," said the Palmer. " I come from 
the Holy Land, and have the moi-e grief in finding yon thus, 



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270 TALES OF THB CRUSADERS. 

becftose my meflsage to you was one addressed to a free man, and 
a wealthy one.** 

« For my freedom," said Damian, *< let these fetters speak, and 
this apartment for my wealth. — But speak oat thy news — ^onld 
ray uncle — ^for I fear thy tale regards him — w^t either my -arm 
or my fortune, this dungeon and my degradation have farther 
thim I had yet supposed, as they render me unable to aJd 



** Your uncle, young man,*' said the Palmer, ** is prisoner, I 
should ra^r say slave, to the great Sddan, taken in a battle in 
which he did his duty, though unable to avert the defeat of the 
Christians, with which it was concluded. He was made prisoner 
while covering the retreat, but not until he had slain with his own 
hand, for his misfortune as it has proved, Hassan All, a favourite 
of the Soldan. The cruel pagan has caused the worthy knight to 
be loaded with irons heavier than those you wear, and the dun- 
geon to which he is confined would make tiiis seem a palace. The 
infidePs first resolution was to put the valiant Constable to the 
most dreadful death which his tormentors could devise. But 
fame told him that Hugo de Lacy was a man of great power and 
wealth ; and he has demandecta ransom of ten thousand bezants 
of gold. Your uncle replied that the payment would totally 
impoverish him, and oblige him to dispose of his whole estates ; 
even tiien he pleaded, time must be allowed him to convert them 
into money. The Sc^dan replied, that it imported little to him 
whether a hound like the Constable were fat or lean, and that he 
therefore insisted upon the full amount of the nmsoni. B^ he 
so far relaxed as to make it payable in three portions, on coodi- 
tion that, along with the first portion of the price, the nearest of 
kin and heir of De Lacy must be placed in his liands as a hostage 
for what remained due. On these conditions he consented your 
uncle should be put at liberty so soon as you arrive in Palestine 
with the gold." 

^ Now may I indeed call myself unhappy,'* said Damian, <* that 
I cannot shew ray love and duty to my noble uncle, who hath 
ever been a father to me in my orphan state." 

" It will be a heavy disappointment, doubtless, to the Con- 
stable," said the Pahner, ** because he was eager to return to this 
happy country, to fulfil a contract of marriage which he had 
formed with a lady of great beauty and fortune/' 

Damian shrunk together in such sort that his fetters clashed, 
but he made no answer. 

** Were he not your uncle," continued the Pilgrim, ** and well 
known as a mne man, I should think he is not quite prudent in 
this matter. Whatever he was before he left England, two 
summers spent in the wars of Palestine, and another amid the 
tortures and restraints of a heathen prison, have made him a 
sOTry bridegroom." 

** Peace, pilgrim," said De Lacy, with a conmianding tone. 



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TALE I. THE BETROTHED. 271 

*^ It 18 not ihj part to censure such a noble knight as my nicies 
nor IB it meet that I should listen to your strietures." 

** I crave yonr pardon, young man," said the Palmer. *• I spoke 
not without some view to your interest, which, methinlcs, does not 
so well consort with thine uncle having an heir of his body." 

^ Peace, base man !*' said Damian. ^ By Heaven, I think 
worse of my cell than I did before, since its doors opened to such 
a eoanaellor, and of my chains, since they restrain me from 
chastising him. — Depart, I pray thee." 

^ Not till I have yonr answer for your uncle," answered the 
Palmer. *' My age scorns the anger of thy youth, as the rock 
despises the foam of the rivulet dashed against it." 

" Then, say to my uncle," answered Damian, ^ I am a prisoner, 
or I would have come to him — I am a confiscated beggar, or I 
woold have sent him my all.'* 

^Snoh virtuous purposes are easily and boldly announced," 
said the Palmer, ** when he who q>eaks them knows that he can- 
not be called upon to make good the boast of his tongue. But 
could I tell thee of thy restoration to freedom and wealth, I trow 
tlion wouldst consider twice ere thy act confirmed the sacrifice 
thou hast in thy present state promised so glibly." 

^ Leave me, I prithee, old man," said Damian ; ^ thy thought 
cannot comprehend the tenor of mine — go, and add not to my 
distress insults which I have not the means to avenge." 

^ But what if I had it in my power to place thee in the situa- 
tion of a free and wealthy man, would it please thee then to be 
reminded of thy pre s e nt boast ! for if not, thou may'st rely on my 
discretion nevor to mention the difference of sentiment between 
Damian bound and Damian at liberty." 

** How meanest thou I — or hast thou any meaning, save to 
torment me !" said the youth. 

** Not so," replied the old Palmer, plucking from his bosom a 
inrchment scroll to which a heavy s«il was attached. — ** Know 
that thy eoushi Randal hath been strangely slain, and his 
treacheries towards the Constable and thee as strangely dis- 
covered. The King, in requital of thy sufferings, hath sent thee 
this full pardon, and endowed thee with a third part of those 
ample estates, which, by his death, revert to the crown." 

** And hath the King also restored my f^reedom and my right 
of bk>od ?" exclaimed I&mian. 

<* From this moment, fortliwith," said the Pahner — ^look upon 
tike pardiment — behold the royal lumd and seal." 

**I must have better proof, — Here," he exclaimed, loudly 
clashing his irons at the same time, *<Here, thou Dogget — 
warder, son of a Saxon wolf-hound !" 

The Palmer, striking on the door, seconded the previous 
exertions for summoning the jailer, who entered accordingly. 

** Warder," said Damian de Lacy, in a stem tone, *< am I yet 
Iby prisoner, or no I" 



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272 TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 

The sullen jailer consulted the Palmer by a look, and then 
answered to Damian that be was a free man. 

^ Then, death of thy heart, slave/' said Danuan, impatiently, 
** why hang these fetters on the free limbs of a Norman noble i 
each moment they confine him are worth a lifetime of bondage 
to such a serf as thou !" 

" They are soon rid of, Sir Damian," said the man ; ^and I 
pray you to take some patience, when you remember that ten 
minutes since you had little right to think these bracelets would 
have been removed for any other purpose than your progress to 
the scaffold/' 

" Peace, ban-dog," said Damian, " and be speedy ! — And tfaoa, 
who hast brought me these good tidings, I forgive thy former 
bearing — thou thoughtest, doubtless, that it was prudent to ex- 
tort from me professions during my bondage which might in 
honour decide my conduct when at large. The suspicion inferred 
in it somewhat offensive, but thy motive was to ensure my uncle's 
liberty." 

" And is it really your purpose," said the Palmer, " to employ 
your newly-gained freedom in a voyage to Syria, and to exdiange 
your English prison for the dungeon of the Soldan !" 

'< If thou thyself wilt act as my guide," answered the undaunted 
youth, " you shall not say I dally by the way." • 

^ And the ransom," said the Palmer, ^ how is that to be {Mno- 
vided I" 

" How, but from the estates, which, nominally restored to me, 
remain in truth and justice my uncle's, and must be applied to his 
use in the first instance 1 If I mistake not greatly, ^ere is not 
a Jew or Lombard who would not advance the necessary sums 
on such security. — Therefore, dog," he continued, addressing the 
jailer, '^ hasten thy unclenching and undoing of rivets, and be not 
dainty of giving me a little pain, so thou break no limb, for I 
cannot afford to be stayed on my journey." 

The Palmer looked on a little while, as if surprised at Damian's 
determination, then exclaimed, '* I can keep the old man's secret 
no longer — such high-souled generosity must not be sacrificed. — 
Hark tliee, brave Sir Damian, I have a mighty secret still to im- 
part, and as this Saxon churl understands no French, this is no 
unfit opportunity to communicate it. Know that thine uncle is a 
changed man in mind, as he is debilitated and broken down in 
body. Peevishness and jealousy have possessed themselves of a 
heart which was once strong and generous ; his life is now on tlie 
dregs, and, T grieve to speak it, these dregs are foul and bitter." 

" Is this thy mighty secret V* said Damian. " That men grow 
old, I know ; and if with infirmity of body comes infirmity of 
temper and mind, their case the more strongly claims the dutiful 
observance of those who are bound to them in' blood or affec- ~ 
tion." 

** Ay," replied the Pilgrim, " but the Constable's mind has been 



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^ALE I. THE BETBOTHED. J73 

^fsoned agiunst liiee by romoorfi which have reached his ear 
from Engluidy that there have been thoughts of affection betwixt 
tfaee and his betrothed bride, Evehne Berenger. — Ha ! have I 
toTudied you now V* 

** Not a whit/' said Damian, putting on the strongest resolution 
with which his virtue could supply him — <' it was but this fellow 
who struck my shin-bone somewhat sharply with his hammer. 
Proceed. My uncle heard such a report, and believed it !" 

^ He did," said the Palmer — ^ I can well aver it, since he 
eoncealed no thought from me. But he prayed me carefully to 
hide his suspicions from you, * otherwise,* said he, 'the young 
wolf-cub will never thrust hhnself into the trap for the deKver- 
anoe of the old he-wolf. Were he once in my prison-house,' your 
uncle continued to speak of you, ' he should rot and die ere I sent 
one penny of ransom to set at Ubei^ the .lover of my betrothed 
bride.' " 

'^ Could this be my uncle's sincere purpose !" said Damian, all 
aghast. ** Could he plan so much treachery towards me as to 
leave me in the captivity into which I threw myself for his re- 
demption ! — Tush ! it cannot be." 

''Flatter not yourself with such a vain opinion," said the 
Palmer — *'if you go to Syria, you go to eternal captivity, while 
your uncle retiums to possession of wealth littie diminished — and 
of Eveline Berenger." 

** Ha !" ejaculiUed Damian ; and, looolnng down for^an instant^ 
demanded of the Palmer, in a subdued voice, what be would have 
him to do in such an extremity. 

** The case is plain, according to my poor judgment," replied 
the Palmer. " No one is bound to faith with those who mean to 
observe none with him. Anticipate this treachery cH your uncle, 
and let his now short and infirm existence moulder out in the 
pestiferous cell to which he would condenm your youthful 
strength. The royal grant has assigned you lands enough for- 
your honourable support ; and wherefore not unite with them 
Ihose of the Garde Doloureuse ! — Eveline Berenger, if I do not 
greatiy mistake, will scarcely say nay. Ay, more ~- 1 vouch it 
on my soul that she will say yes, for I have sure information of 
her mind ; and for- her precontract, a word from Henry to his 
Holiness, now that they are in the heyday of their reconciliation, 
will obliterate the name Hugh from the parchment, and insert 
Damian in its stead." 

** Now, by my faith," said Damian, arising and pladng his foot 
upon the stool, that the warder might more easily strike off the 
iMt ring by which he was encumbered, — "I have heard clS. such 
tilings as this — I have heard of beings who, with seeming gravity 
of word and aspect — with subtie counsels, artfully applied to the 
frailties of human ziature .— have haunted the cells of despairing 
men, and made them many a fair promise, if they would but 
exchange for their by-ways the paths of salvation. Such are the 



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t74 TAI«BS OF THE CRUSADEB8. 

^nd's dearest agents, and in such a gaise hath the fiend himseif 
been known to appear. In the name of Qod, old man, if human 
tiiou arty begone ! — I like not tiiy words or thy presence — I 
spit at thy oonnsels. And mark me/' he added, with a menacing 
gesture, ''hook to thine own safety — I shall presently be at 
Bberty I" 

" Boy" replied the Palmer, folding his arms contemptuously in 
his cloak, '* I scorn thy menaces — I leave thee not till we know 
each other better !" 

" I too,** siud Damian, " would fain know whether thou be^ 
man or fiend ; and now for the trial !*' As he spoke, the last 
shackle fell from his leg, and clashed on the pavement, and at the 
same moment he sprung on the Palmer, caught bJm by the 
waist, and exclaimed, as he made three distinct and desperate 
attempts to lift him up, and* dash him headlong to the earth, 
" This for maligning a nobleman — this for doubting the honour 
of a knight — and this (with a yet more violent exertion) for 
belyinflf a lady I** 

Each effort of Damian seemed equal to have rooted up a tree ; 
yet though they staggered the old man, they overthrew him not ; 
and while Damian panted with his last exertion, he replied, ** And 
take this, for so roughly entreating thy father's brother." 

As he spoke, Damian de Lacy, the best youtiiful wrestler in 
Cheshire, received no soft fall on the floor of the dungeon. He 
arose slowly and astounded ; but the Palmer had now ttu*own back 
both hood and dalmatique, and the features, though bearins marks 
of age and climate, were those of his uncle the ConstaUe, who 
calmly observed, ^ I think, Damian, thou art become stronger, 
or I weaker, since my breast was last pressed against yours in 
our country's celebrated sport. Thou hadst nigh had me down 
in that last turn, but that I knew the old De lAcy's back-trip as 
well as thou. — But whei*efore kneel, man!" He raised him 
with much kindness, kissed his cheek, and proceeded ; " Think not, 
ray dearest nephew, that T meant in my late disguise to try your 
faith, which I myself never doubted. But evil tongues had been 
busy, and it was this which made me resolve on an experiment, 
the result of which has been, as I expected, most honourable for 
you. And know, (for these walls have sometimes ears, even ac- 
cording to the letter,) there are ears and eyes not far distant which 
have heard and seen the whole. Marry, I wish though, thy last 
hug had not been so severe a one. My ribs still feel the im- 
pression of thy knuckles." 

** Dearest and honoured uncle," said Damian, " excuse " 

^ There is nothing to expense," replied his uncle, interrupting 
him. " Have we not wrestled a turn before now ! — But there re- 
mains yet one trial for thee to go through — Gret thee out of this 
hole speedily — don thy best array ^ accompany me to the 
Church at noon ; for, Damian, thou must be present at the i 
riage of the Lady Eveline Bereuger." 



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TALE I. THE BETBOTHBD. 275 

This proposal at once strack to the earth the unhappy young 
man. ^ For mercy's sake," he exclaimed, hold me excused in 
this, my gracious uncle I — I have been of late severely wounded, 
and am very weak/' 

" As my bones can testify," said his uncle. ** Why, man, 
thou hast the strength of a Norway bear." 

'^ Passion," answered Damian, ** might give me strength for a 
moment ; but, dearest uncle, ask any thing of me rather than 
this. Methinks, if I have been £EMilty, some other punishment 
might suffice." 

'^ I tell thee," said the Constable, " thy presence is necessary 
— indispensably necessary. Strange reports have been abroad, 
which thy absence on this occaaoh would go far to confirm. 
Eveline's character and mine own are concerned in this." 

^ If so," said Damian, ^ if it be indeed so, no task will be too 
hard for me. But I trust, when the ce;|remony is over, you will 
not refuse me your consent to take the cross, unless you should pre- 
fer my joining the troops destined, as I heard, for the conquest of 
Ireland." 

^ Ay, ay," said the Constable ; ** if Eveline grant yon per- 
misnon, I will not withhold mine." 

** Uncle," said Damian, somewhat sternly, ^ you do not know 
the feelings which you jest with." 

^ Nay," said the Constable, ^ I compel nothing ; for if thou 
goest tp the church, and likest not the match, thou may'st put a 
stop to it if thou wilt — the sacrament cannot proceed without 
the bridegroom's consent." 

^ I understand you not, unde," said Damian ; ^ you have 
already consented." 

** Yes, Damian," he said, " I have — to withdraw my claim, 
and to relinquish it in thy favour ; for if Eveline Berenger is 
wedded to-day, thou art her bridegroom ! The Church has givQn 
her sanction — the King his approbation — the lady says not nay 
— and the question only now remains, whether the bridegroom 
will say yes." 

The nature of the answer may be easily conceived ; nor is it 
necessary to dwell upon the splendour of the ceremonial, which, 
to atone ibr his late unmerited severity, Henry honoured with his 
own presence. Amelot and Rose were shortly afterwards united, 
old hammock having been previously created a gentleman of 
coat armour, that the gentle Norman blood might, without utter 
derogation, mingle with the meaner stream tliat coloured the 
cheek with crimson, and meandered in azure over the lovely neck 
and bosom of the fair Fleming. There was nothing in the manner 
of the Constable towards his nephew and his bride, which could 
infer a regret of the generous self-denial which he had exercised in 
favour of their youthful passion. But he soon after accepted 
t high command in the troops destined to invade Ireland ; 
and his name is found amongst the highest in the roll of the 



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TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. 
Normans who first united that &ir island to the EngCsh 

restored to her own &ir castle and domains, (ailed 
^de for her Confessor, as well as for her old soldiers, 
Ad retainers, forgetting their errors, and rememhering 
ty. The Confessor was restored to the flesh-pots of 
re congenial to his hahits than the meagre fare of his 
Even Gillian had the means of snhsistence, once to 
' would have been to distress the fiuthful Raoul. They 
for the future part of their lives in plenty, just as they 
rly quarrelled in poverty ; for Wrangling curs will fight 
iquet as fiercely as over a hare bone. Raoul died first, 
1 having lost her whetstone, found that as her youthfdl 
kyed her wit turned somewhat blunt. She tikerefore 
conomenced devotee, and spent hours in long panegy- 
? departed husband. 

y serious cause of vexation which I can trace the Lady 
kving been tried with, arose fin>m a visit of her Saxon 
lade with much form, but, unfortunately, at the very 
ii the Lady Abbess had selected for that same purpose. 
*d whicharose between thesehonoured personages was of 
hamster, for tiiey were Norman and &ixon, and, more- 
red in opinion concerning the time of holiting Easter, 
ever, was but a slight gale to disturb the general sere- 
eline ; for with her unhoped-for union with Damian, 
trials and sorrows of Ths Bethothbd. 



mm OF THB BBTBOTHBD. 



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MOTES 



THE BETROTHED. 



note A, 9.80. ^AamofAWaumFBtmcm. 

8Mlfadoofor«Mllt0na/M<|Nve'toiBM«iMldutlet. Hr 8oiillwy*t attai 
Mbnn in: •• Th* toot4mnt abtU bold ttw feet of the King in his 1m>, (hm 
the time he reclines at the board till he goes to rest, and he shaU chafe them 
with a towel ; and during all that time shall watch that no harm be&lls the 
King. He shaU eat of the same dish from which the King takes his food : he 
shall light the first candle before the King.** Such are the instructions given 
for this part of royal ceremonial in the laws of Bowell Dha. It may be added, 
that probably npon this Celtic custom was founded one of those absurd and 
incredible representatknis which were propagated at the time of the French 
Revolution, to stir up the peasants against tlieir feudal superiors. It was pre- 
tended that some feudal seigneurs asserted their right to hiH and disembowel a 
peasant, in order to put their own feet withtai the expfaring body, and so recover 
them from the chill. 

Note B, p. 61. CoDRAOx or tux Wnau. 

This is bgr no means exaggerated in the text A very honomaMe testimony 
was given to their valour by King Henry 11., in a letter to the Greek Emperor, 
BmMHiel Oomnenns. This prince having desired tlutt an account mi^t be 
sent him of all that was remarkable hi the island of Oreat Britain. Henry, hi 
•ossier t9 that request, was pleased to take notice, among other partiouJars. 
of the extraoidfaiaty ooomge and fierceness of the Welsh, who were not afraid 
to ight unanned with enemies armed at all points, valianUy shedding their 
Mood in the cause of their oountiy, and purchasing glory at the expense of their 
lives. 

Note C, p. 78> AncBKBs or Walkb. 

The Welsh wei« excellent bowmen ; but, under &vour of Lord Lyttelton, 
thc^ probably did not use the long bow, the formidable weapon of the Normans, 
and aftenmids of the Englisli yeomen. That of the Welsh most likely ratiier 
resembled the bow of the cognate Celtic tribes of Ireland, and of the Higfahmda 
of Scotland. It was shorter than the Nonnan long bow, as befaig drawn to the 
bieast, not to the ear, more loosely strong, and tlie arrow having a heavy iron 
head ; altogether, hi short, a less eifeetive weapon. It appean from the follow- 
ing aneodote, tiiat that was a difference between the Welsh arrow and those ol 
theBngiish. 



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278 NOTES TO THE BETROTHED. 

In 1122, Henry the II., luarcliing Into Powys-Land to chastise Meredytb np 
Bietliyn and certain rebels, in pHSsing a detile was stnidc by an arrow on the 
lireast. Repelled by the excellence of his breastplate, the shaft fell to the 
jn^und. When the King felt the blow and saw the shaft, be swore his tmial 
oath, by the death of our Lord, that the arrow came not from a Welsh but aa 
English bow ; and, influenced by this beUef, hastily put an end to the war. 

Note D, p. 88. Einx>iicHAWO, or Gold Chains of thb Wblsb 

These were the distihguished marks of rank and valour among the numeroiM 
tribes of Celtic extraction. Manlius, the Roman Champion, gained the naine 
of Torquatus, or he of the chain, on account of an ornament of this kind, won, 
in single combat, from a gigantic Gaul. Aneurin, the Welsh bard, mentions, in 
Ilia tioem on the battle of Catterath, tliat no less than three hundred of the 
BriOsh, who fell there, had their necks wreathed with the Eudorehawg. Thte 
seems to infer that the chain was a badge of disthietion, and valour perhaps, but 
not of royalty ; otherwise there would scarce have been so manv khigs present in 
one battle. This chafai has been found accordingly in Ireland and Wales, and 
sometimes, though more rarely, in Scotland. Doubtless it was of too precious 
materials not to be usually converted into money by the enemy into whoM 
hands it fell. 

Note E, p. 94. Crubltics or THS WxLSB. 

The Welsh, a fierce and barbarouspeople, were often aoensed of nanghng 
the bodies of their dain antagonists. Every one must remember Shakespeare^ 
account, how 



Leadiag the men or HenftwdBhin to il^t, 
Anlnat the In^nlw and wild CHendower — 
wu, by the rode hands of that Webhrnaa, taken. 
And a auNuand of his people bnteh' red ; 



Upon whoae dead oorpse there waa such n 
Sttdi beaatly, ahaaiekae tramAmnation, 
"r theee Weiehwomeii done, aa may not bo, 
' le, retold or qokenoC'* 



NoteF, p. 127. BABR-Garar. 



Wltl 



» of the Bahr>Gei8t was takm firmn a passage in the Memoin of Ltdif 
, whksh have ihice been given to the public, and received with deserved 



The idea c 
Fanshaw, 
approbation. 

The orighial runs as follows. Lady Fanshaw, shifting among her friends i» 
Ireland, like other sound loyalists of the period, tells her story thus : — 

'* From thence we wait to the Lady Honor O'Brien's, a lady that went for m 
maid, but few believed it. She was the youngest daughter of the Earl ot 
Thomond. There we staid three nights— the first of which I was surprised at 
being laid in a chamber, where, when about one o*clodc, I heard a voice that 
Awakened me. I drew the curtain, and in the casement of the window I saw, 
by the li^t of tlie moon, a woman leaning through the casement hito the room, 
in white, with red hah* and pale and ghastly complexion. She spoke k)ud, and 
in a tone I had never heard, thrice, ** A horse ;** and then, with a sigh more 
like the wind than breath, she vanished, and to me her body looked more like a 
thick doud than substance. I was so much frightened, that my bair stoed 00 
end, and my night clothes fell off. I pulled and pinched your fiither, who never 
awoke during the disorder I was in, but at last was much surprised to see roe 
in this Mght, and more so when I related the story and shewed him the window 
opened. Neither of us slept any more that night ; but he entertained me by 
telling roe how much more these apparitions were common in this country than 
in England ; and we concluded the cause to be the xreat snperstitkm of the 
Irish, and the want of that knowing faith which should defend them from the 
power of the devil, which he exercises among them very mudi. About five 
o'clock the lady of the house came to see us, saying, she had not been in bed aD 
nigbt« because a cousin O'Bxien of ben, whose aaoeitora had owned that bouse. 



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NOTES TO THE BETROTHED. 279 

Ivbd desired her to stay with him in his clianiber, and that he died at two o'clock ; 
and ^e said, I wisli you to have had no disturbance, for 'tis the custom of the 
place, that when any of the &mily are dying, the shape of a woman appears 
every night in the window until they be dead. This woman was many ages age 
got wiUi child by the owner <^ this place, who murdered her in his garden, and 
flung her into the river under the window ; but truly I thought not ot it when I 
lodgfed you here, it being the best room in the house ! We made little reply to 
iier tpeeehf but dii^KMed ourselves to be gone suddenly.'* 

NoteO, p. 249. Mandrik. ^ 

'*ItlstheflnfeMo«rof the laiwe«raiaoe which pteraes or rtaoa— those whioh folkm 
are UM1« felt." 

Buch an eKsression is said to have beai used by ManAin the celebrated 
cnragKler, while in the act of being broken upon the wheel. This dr^adfitl 
punistiment consists in the executioner, with a bar of iron, breaking tiie slioulder 
bones, arms, thigh-bones, and legs of the criminal, taking his alternate sides. 
The punishment is concluded by a blow across the breast, called the coup dt 
pracCf because it removes the sufferer from his agonv. When Mandrin received 
tlie second blow over the left shoulder bone, be laughed. His confessor inquired 
the reason of demeanour so unbecoming his situation. *' I only laugh at niy 
own folly, my father,'* answered Mandrin, ** who could suppose that sensibility 
of pftin should continue after the nervous qvtem had been completely deranged 
fety llie first blow.** 



EVb OV THE NOTES TO THE BBT&OTBBD. 



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CHKONICLES 



OF 



THE CANONGATK 



fiteitiiralastiB. 



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INTRODUCTION 



TO 



CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. 



Th« preceding yolmne of this Collection concluded tiie last of 
the pieces originally published under the nominis umbra of The 
Author of Waveriey ; * and the circumstances which rendered it 
impossible for the writer to continue longer in the possession of 
his incognUo, were comnranicated in 18279 ^ ^® Introduction to 
the first series of Chronicles of the Canongate, — consistmg (be- 
sides a biographical sketch of the imaginary chronicler) of three 
tales, entitled "The HigWand Widow,"** The Two Drovers," 
and ** The Surgeon*s Daughter." In the present volume the two 
first named of these pieces are included, together with three 
detached stories, which appeared the year after in the degant 
eompiktion called « The Keepsake." The ** Suigeon's Daughter" 
it is thou^t better to defer until a succeeding volume, than to 

<* Begin and braak off in the middle.*' f 

<I have, perhaps, said enough on former occasions of the misfor- 
tunes which led to the dropping of that mask under which I had, 
for a long series of years, enjoyed so large a portion of public 
favour. Through the success of those literary efforts, I had been 
enabled to indulge most of the tastes, which a retired person of 
my station might be supposed to entertain. In the pen of this 
nameless romancer, I seemed to possess something like the secret 

* Namely, "Woodstock**-— which will fonn YoL XXL of the preient 
Edition. 

t TUs pangraph has reiSwenee to the amngement adopted for the former 
Edition of the Waverlej Novels in forty-eight volumes. To suit that of the 
preseot Edition, " The Two Drovers/' with the three sttMries from the Keep- 
lake, wOl be given in the twentieth, and ** The Surgeon's Daughter" in the 
tweDty-fifth Volume. 



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2S4 INTRODUCTION TO 

fountain of ooined gold and pearls Tonchsafed to the traveller «f 
the Eastern Tale ; and no doubt believed that I might ventorey 
without silly imprudence, to extend my personal expenditure 
considerably beyond what I should have thou^t of, had my 
means been limited to the eolnpetence w^ich I derived frcmi 
inheritance, with the moderate income of a professional situation. 
I bought, and built, and planted, and was conadered by myself 
as by the rest of the world, in the safe possession of an easy for- 
tune. My riches, however, like the other riches of this world, 
were liable to accidents^ under which they were ultimately des- 
tined to make unto themselves wings and fly away. The year 
1825, so disastrous to many branches of industry and commerce, 
did not spare the market of literature ; and the sudden ruin that 
fell on so many of the booksellers, could scarcely have been 
expected to leave unscathed one, whose career had of necessity 
connected him deeply and extenmvely with the peouaiary tnin- 
aactions of that profession. In a word, akaost without one noto 
of premonition, I found mysetf involved in the sweeping oatas- 
tro^ of the unhappy time, and called on to meet the demaadsof 
creditors upon commercial estabUshraents with whieh. my fortunes 
had long been bound up, to the extent of no less a snm thatt one 
hundred and twenty thousand pounds. 

The author having, however rashly, committed his pledges tfans 
largely to the hazards of trading companiee, it behoved him, of 
course, to abide the conse^iueiicee of hk conduct, and, wilh what- 
ever feelings^ he surrendered on the instant every shred ol pro- 
perty which he had been accustomed to call his own. Itbeeamo 
vested in the hands of gentlemen, whose integrity, prudence, and 
intelligence, were combined with all possible HbenUity and kind- 
ness of disposition, and who readily afforded every assistance 
towards the execution of plans, in the snooess of whit^ theaathor 
oontempUted the possibilUy of his ultimate extrication, and which 
were of su^ a nature, that had assistance oi this sort been with- 
held, he could have had little prospect of carrying them into 
effeet. Among other resources which ooeurred, was the {oojeet 
<tf diat complete and corrected edition of his Novels and Roinan« 
eee, (whose real parentage had of necessity ho&a. diaeloeed at the 
mopi^nt of the commercial convulsions alluded to,) which has now 
advanced with unprecedented favour nearly to its close ; but as 
he purposed also to continue, for the behoof of those to whom he 
was Indebted, the exercise of his pen in the same path of litera- 
ture, so long as the taste of his countrymen should seem to approve 
of his efforts, it appeared to him that it would have been an idk 



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CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. 285 

piece of afiectatdon to attempt getting up a new inecgnitOf after 
his original visor had been thus dashed from his brow. Hence 
the peraonal narrative prefixed to the first work of fiction which 
he put forth after the paternity of the '* Waverley Novels" had 
eome to be pubhciy ascertained ; and though many of the parti- 
eiiiars originally avowed in that Notice have been unav<^ably 
adverted to in the prefaces and notes to some of the preceding 
volumes of the present collection, it is now re{ninted as it stood 
at the ttme, because eome interest is generally attached to a coin 
or medal struck on a special occasion, as expressing, perhaps, 
more £uthfully than the same artist could have afterwards con- 
veyed, the fec^gs of the moment that gave it birth. The Intro- 
duction to the first series of Chronicles of the Canongate ran, then, 
in these words : 



INTRODUCTION. 

All who are acquainted with the early history of the Italian 
stage are aware, that Arlechino is not, in his original conception, 
a mere woricer of marvels with his wooden sword, a jumper in 
and out of windows, as upon our theatre, but, ashis party-coloured 
jacket imi^es, a buffoon or down, whose numth, far from being 
eternally dosed, as amongst us, is filled, like that <^ Touchstone, 
with quips, and cranks, and witty devices, very often deUvered 
extempore. It is not easy to trace how he be<»une possessed of 
his Uack vizard, which was anciently made in the resembkiace of 
the face of a cat ; but it seems that the mask was essential to the 
performance of the character, as will appear from the following 
theatrical anecdote : — , 

An actor on the Italian stage permitted at the Foire du St 
Grermain, in Paris, was renowned for the wild, venturous, and 
extravagant wit, the brilliant saUies and fortunate repartees, with 
which he prodi^illy seasoned the character of the party-coloured 
jester. Some critics, whose good-will towards a favourite perfor- 
mer was stronger than their judgment, took occasion to remon- 
strate with the successful actor on the subject of the grotesque 
viiard. They went wilily to their purpose, observing that his 
rhmminJ and attic wit, his deheate vein of humour, his happy turn 
for dialogue, were rendered buriesque and ludicrous by this 
unmeaning and bizarre disguise, and diat those attributes woidd 
become far more impressive, if aided by Ihe spirit of his eye and 
the expression of his natural features. The actor's vanity was 



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286 INTRODUCTION TO 

easily so far engaged as to indace him to make the experiment. 
He played Harlequin harefSftoed, but was considered on all hands 
as haying made a total iiEulure. He had lost the audacity which 
a sense of incognito bestowed, and with it all the reckless play of 
raillery which gave vivacity to his original acting. He cursed his 
advisers, and resumed his grotesque vizard ; but, it is said, with- 
out ever being able to regain the careless and successful levity 
which the consciousness of the disguise had formerly bestowed. 

Perhaps the Author of Waverley is now about to incur a risk 
}f the same kind, and endanger his popukirity by having laid 
aside his incognito. It is certainly not a voluntary experiment, 
like that of Harlequin ; for it was my original intention never to 
have avowed these works during my lifetime, and the original 
manuscripts were carefully preserved, (though by the care of 
others rather than mine,) with the purpose of supplying the 
necessary evidence of the truth when the period of announcing it 
should arrive.* But the affairs of my publishers having unfortu- 
nately passed into a management different from their own, I had 
no right any longer to rely upon secrecy in that quarter ; and 
thus my mask, hke my Aunt Dinah's in ^ Tristram Shandy," 
having begun to wax a little threadbare about the chin, it became 
time to Uy it aside with a good grace, unless I desired it should 
fiill in pieces from my &ce, which was now become likely. ^ 

Yet I had not the slightest intention of selecting the time and 
place in which the disclosure was finally made ; nor was there 
any concert betwixt my learned and respected friend Lo&n 
Mbadowbutk and myself upon that occasion. It was, as the 
reader is probably aware, upon the 23d Februarys last, at a publio 
meeting, called for establishing a professional Theatrical Fund in 
Edinburgh, that the communication took place. Just before we 
sat down to table. Lord Meadowbankf asked me privately, 
whether I was still anxious to preserve my incognito on the 
subject of what were called the Waveriey Novels I I did not 
immediately see the purpose of liis lordship's question, although 
I certainly might have been led to infer it, and replied, that the 
secret had now of necessity become known to so many people 
that I was indifferent on the subject. Lord Meadowbank was 
thus induced, while doing me the great honour of proposing my 
health to the meeting, to say something on the subject of these 

* Theie mantucripta are at present (August 1831) advertised for public Mle, 
wliieh is an addition, though a small one, to other annoyances. 

t One of the Supreme Judges of Scjtland, termed Lwds of Conncfl and 
Session. 



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CHRONICLES OF THB CANONOATE. 287 

tiovels, 80 strongly connecting them with me as the author, that 
hy remaininff silent, I must have stood convicted, either of the 
actual paternity, or of the still greater crime of being supposed 
Mrilling to receive indirectly praise to which I had no just title. 
I thus found myself suddenly and unexpectedly placed in the 
confessional, and had only time to recollect that I had been 
guided thither by a most friendly hand, and could not, periiaps, 
find a better public opportunity to lay down a disguise, which 
began to resemble that of a detected masquerader. 

I had therefore the task of avowing myself, to the numerous 
and respectable company assembled, as the sole and unaided 
author of these Novels of Waverley, the paternity of which was 
likely at one time to nave formed a controversy of some celebrity, 
for the ingenuity with which some instructors of the public gave 
their assurance on the subject, was extremely persevering. I now 
think it farther necessary to say, that while I take on myself all 
the merits and demerits attending these compositions, I am bound 
to acknowledge with gratitude, hints of subjects and legends 
which I have received ftom various quartors, and have occasionally 
used as a foundation of my fictitious compositions, or woven up 
with them in the shape of episodes. I am bound, in particular, 
to acknowledge the unremitting kindness of Mr Joseph Train, 
supervisor of excise at Dumfries, to whose unwearied industry I 
have been indebted for many curious traditions, and points of 
antiquarian interest It was Mr Train who brought to my re- 
collection the history of Old Mortality, although I myself had had 
a personal interview with diat celebrated wanderer so far back as 
about 1792, when I found him on his usual task. He was then 
engaged in repairing the gravestones of the Ck>venanters, who 
had died while imprisoned in the Castle of Dunnottar, to which 
many of them were committed prisoners at the period of Argyle's 
rising; their phice of confinement is still called the Whigs' 
Vault. Mr Train, however, procured for me far more extensive 
information concerning this singular person, whose name was 
Patterson, than I had been able to acquire during my own short 
conversation with him.* He was (as I think I have somewhere 
already stated) a native of the parish of Closebum, in Dumfries- 
shire, and it is believed that domestic affliction, as well as devo- 
tional feeling, induced him to commence the wandering mode of 
life, which he pursued for a very long period. It is more than 
twenty years since Robert Patterson's death^ which took place on 

* See, for some farther pArticulars, the notes to Old Mortality, in th« 
present collective edition. 



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288 INTRODUCTION TO 

the high road near Lockerby, where he was found exhaaated and 
expiring. The white pony, the companion of his pilgrimage, was 
standing by the side of its dying mast^ ; the whole famishing a 
scene not unfitted for the pencil. These partionlars I had horn 
Blr Train. 

. Another debt, ^ich I pay most willmgly, I owe to an un- 
known correspondent, (a lady,*) who iaToured me with ^e history 
of -the c^ght and hi^principled female, whom, in the Heait of 
l^id-Lothian, X have termed Jeanie Deans. The circumstance of 
her refusing to save her aster's life by an act of perjury, and 
Undertaking a pilgrimage to London to obtain her pardon, are 
both represented as true by my fair and obliging correspondent ; 
and they led me to consider ^e possibility of rendering atfieti- 
tious personage interesting by mere dignity of mind and rectitude 
of principle, assisted by unpretending good sense and temper, 
without any of <he beauty, grace, talent, aiecompKshment, and wit, 
to which a heroine of romance is supposed to have a prescriptive 
right. If the portrait was received with interest by t^e public, I 
am conscious how much it was owing to the trulh and force of 
the original sketch, which T regret that I am unable to present to 
the pubHc, as it was written with much feeling and spirit. 

(Hd and odd books, and a conmderable collection of family 
legends fcnrmed another quarry, so ample, that it was mudi more 
likely that the strength of the labourer should be exhausted, than 
that materials should fail. I may mention, for exam{de's sake, 
that the terrible catastrophe of the Bride of Lammermoor actu- 
i^y occurred in a Scottish £unily of rank. The female relative, 
by whqm the melancholy tale was communicated to me many 
years since, was a near connection of the family in which the 
event had happened, and always tdd it wilh an appearance of 
melancholy mystery, which enhanced the interest. She had 
known, in her youth, the brother who rode before the unhappy 
victim to the itJtaX altar, who, though then a mere boy, and occu- 
pied almost entirely with the gaiety of his own appearance in the 
bridal procession, could not but remark that the hand of his sister 
was moist, and cold as that of a statue. It is unnecessary ferfher 
to withdraw the veil from this scene of family distress, nor, al- 
though it occurred more than a hundred years since, might it be 
altogether agreeable to the representatives of the £Bmilies con- 
cerned in the nairative. It may be proper to say, that the 
events abne am imitated ; but I had neither the means nor in- 

* The late Mm Ooldit. 



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CHRONICLES OF THB CANON6ATB. ^89 

tentioa of copying the manners, or tracing the characters, of the 
persons concerned in the real story. 

Indeed, I may here slate generally, that although I have 
deemed historical personages free subjects of delineation, I have 
never on any occasion violated the respect due to private life. It 
was indeed impossible that traits proper to persons, both living 
and dead, with whom I have had intercourse in society, should 
not have risen to my pen in such works as Waveriey, and those 
which followed it. But I have always studied to generalize the 
portraits, so that they should still, seem, on the whole, the pro- 
ductions of £Euicy, though possessing some resemblance to real 
individuals. Yet I must own my attempts have not in this last 
particular been uniformly successful. There, are men whose 
characters are so peculiarly marked, that the defineation of some 
leading and principal feature, inevitably places the whole person 
before you in his individuality. Thus the character of Jonathan 
Oldbuck, in the Antiquary, was partly founded on that of an old 
friend of my youth, to whom 1 am indebted for introducing me 
to Shakespeare, and other invaluable favours ; but I thought I had 
so completely disguised the likeness, that his features could not be 
.recognized by any one now alive. I was mistaken, however, and 
indeed had endangered what I desired should be considered as a 
secret ; for I afterwards learned that a highly respectable gentle- 
man, one of the few surviving friends of my ^ther,* and an adute 
critic, had said, upon the appearance of the work, that he was now 
convinced who was the author of it, as he recognized, in the An- 
tiquary of Monkbams, traces of the character of a very intimata 
friend of my lather's family. 

I may herQ also notice, that the sort of exchange of gallantly, 
which is represented as tddng place betwixt Waveriey and 
Colonel Talbot, is a literal fact. The real drcumstanoes of the 
anecdote, alike honourable to Whig and Tory, are these : — 

Alexander Stewart of Invemahyle, — a name which I cannot 
write without tly <earmes( recollections of gratitude to the friend 
of my childhood, who first introduced me to the HighUuids, their 
traditions, and their manners,— had been engaged actively in the 
troubles of 1745. As he charged at the battle of Preston with 
his clan, the Stewarts of Appine, he saw an officer of the opposite 
army standing alone by a battery of four cannon, of which Iw 
discharged three on the advancing Highlanders, and then drew 
his sword. Invemahyle rushed on him, and required him ta 

* James Chalmeri, Esq. solicitor at law, London, wlio di«d during th« pub- 
lication of the present •dition of these Novels. (Aug. 138! ) 
VOL. XIX. T 



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■290 INTROMJUTION TO 

Mirretide<r. "*< Nennf to rebate (" was tbe uncbMiiited tt^ly, a^ 
companied with a lounge, which the Higfalaader reoMved on his 
target ; but instead of nang faa sword in outting down his now 
defenceless antagonist, he employed it in parrying the Uow of a 
Iiochaber axe, aimed at the officer by Use Miller, one cf his own 
followers, % grim-looking <Ad Highlander, whom I remember to 
have seen. Thus orerpowered, LSenteoant^^olonel Allan White*- 
foord, a gentieman of rank aaad eonsequenee, as weQ as a brave 
ofRoer, gave up his sword, and with it has purse «nd watch, which 
Invemahyle accepted, to save them from his loUowers. After 
the affair was orer, Mr Stewart senght otrt Us prisoner, aad they 
were introdnced to each oth«r by the cekbrafted John Roy 
Stewart, who acqnaSnted Gokmel Whitefoord witk the qoality of 
his captor, and made hnn aware of the necessity of receiving 
back his property, which he was iooHned to leave in the hands 
to which it had fallen. ' So great became the confidence est»- 
blicAted betwixt them, that Invemahyle Obtained from the Chevv- 
lier his prisoner's freedom npen parole ; and seon aflerwards, 
having been sent bade to Hie Highlands to raise nen> he visited 
Oolond Whitefoord at his own Immmc, and spent bvo happy days 
wHh him and his Whig friends, without thinking, on eidier side, 
of ihe civil war which was then raging. 

When 1^ battle of OuUoden put an end to the hopes of GharlcB 
Edwatrd, Invemahyle, wounded and unaMe to move, was home 
from the f(dd by the faithful seal of his retainers. Bat, as he 
had beeti a distinguished Jaoobite, his fisraily and property w«re 
«x^)Osedto the syeftem of vindictive destruction, too geneiaUy 
carried into execution through the conntry of the insurgents. 
It was now Colonel Whitefoord's tarn to exert himself^ and he 
wearied aU the authorities, civil amd military, with bis solicitations 
for pardon to the saver of his life, or at least for a proiectioa for 
his wife and family. His applications were for a long time un- 
sa*cce8s!ul : '^ I was found with tiie mark of the Beast upon me 
in every list," was linnMmahyle's expression. At length Colonel 
Whitefoord applied to the Duke of CuBDberland, and urged his 
soit with crvery argvnent whiek he eoold think of^ Being still 
TOpulsed, he took his oonmisston from his bc^m, and, having 
said isomething of his own and his family^ exertions in the cause 
^ the House of Hanover, begged lo resign his situation in their 
service, 'Since he eevid not be permitted to shew his gratitude to 
the pMsMi >to whom he «wed his life. The Duke, struck with his 
earnestness, desired him to take up his commission, and granted 
the protection required for the lunily of Invemahyle 



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CHRONICLES OP THE OANONGATE. 291 

The vhieftMn himself lay concealed in a cave near his own 
hooae, before which a small body of regular soldiers were en- 
camped. He could hear their muster-roll called every morning 
and their drums beat to quarter at nights, and not a change of 
the sentinels escaped him. As it was suiq>ected that he was 
lurking somewhere on the property, his £unily were closely 
watched, and compiled to use the utmost precaution in supplying 
him with food. One of his daughters, a child <^ eightor ten years 
old, was employed as the agent least likely to besuspected. She was 
an instance among others, that a time of danger and difficulty 
creates a premature sharpness of intdleet She made herself 
acquainted among the soldien, till she became so familiar to thein^ 
that her motions escaped tiieir notice ; and her practice was, te 
stroll away in the neighbourfaood of the cave, and leare what 
slender supply of food she carried for that purpose under some 
remarkable stone, or tiie root of some tree, where her father 
might find it as he crept by night from his lurking-place. Times 
became milder, and my excellent friend was rdieved from pro- 
scription by the Act of Indemnity. Such is the interesting story 
which I bare rather injured thim improved, by the manner is 
which it is told in Waverley. 

This incident, with sevenJ other oirenmstanoes Ulustrating the 
Tales in question, was communicated by me to my late lamented 
friend, William Erskine, (a Scottish Judge, by the title of Lord 
Kinedder,) who afterwards reviewed with frr too much partiality 
the Tales of my Landlord, for the Quarterly Review of January 
1817.* In the same artide, are contained other illustrations of 
the Novels with which I supplied my accomplished friend, who 
took the trouble to write the review. The reader who is desirous 
of such information, will find the original of Meg Meirilees, and 
I believe of one or two other personages of the same cast of cha- 
racter, in the article referred to. 

I may also mention, that ihe tragic and savage circumstances 
which are represented as preceding the birth of Allan MacAulay, 
in the Legend of Montrose, retflly happened in thefiunily of 
Stewart of Ardvmriidi. The wager about the candlesticks, whose 
place was supplied by Highland torch-bearers, was had and won 
by one of the MacDonaldsof Keppoch. 

There can be but little amusement in winnowing out the few 
grains of truth which are contained in this mass of empty fiction. 
I may, however, before dismissing the subject, allude to the 

* Lord Kinedder died in August, 182S. Eheu I (Aug. 1831.) 



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89f INTRODUCTION TO 

▼arious locaHties wfaieh have been affixed to some of the seenery 
introdaoed into these Novels, by which, for eiuimple, WolTa* 
Hope is identified with Fast-Castle in Berwickshire, — Tillietad* 
lem with Draphane in Clydesdale, — and the valley in the Mon-* 
astery, called Glendearg, with the dale of the. river Allan, above 
liord Somerville's villa, near Melrose. I can only say, tliat, in 
these and other instances, I had no purpose of describing any 
particuhir local spot ; and the reeembhince most therefore be of 
that general kind which necessarily exists between scenes of the 
same character. The iron-bound coast of SootUnd affords upon 
its headlands and promontories fifty such castles as WolTs-Hope ; 
«veTy county has a valley more or less resembling Glendearg ; 
«nd if castles like Tillietudlem, or mansions like the Baron of 
Bradwardine's, are now less frequently to be met with, it is owing 
to the rage of indiscruninate destruction, which has removed or 
ruined so many monuments of antiquity, when they were not pro- 
jected by liieir inaccessible situation.* 

The scraps of poetry which have been fn most cases tadced te 
the begmning of chapters in these Novels, are sometimes quoted 
either from reading or from m^nory, but, in the general case, 
are pure -invention. I found it too troublesome to turn to the 
tcollection <xf the British Poets to discover apposite mottos, and, 
in the situation of the theatrical mechanist, who, when the white 
paper which represented his shower of snow was exhausted, oon- 
tinued the storm by «iowing brown, I drew on my memory as 
long as I «ould, and, when that failed, eked it out with invention. 
I betieve that, in some cases, where actual names are affixed to 
the supposed quotations, it would be to little purpose to seek 
them in the works of the autiiors referred to. In some cases, I 
liave been entertained when Dr Watts and other graver authors 
^ve been ransacked in vaui for stanzas for v^bkh. the novelist 
alone was responsible. 

And now the reader may expect me, while in the coofessicHial, 
to explain the motives why I have so long persisted in disclaiming 
the works of whidi I am now Imting. To this it would be diffi- 
cult to give any other reply, save that of Corporal Nym — It was 
the author's humour or caprice lor the time. I hope it will not 
be construed into ingratitude to the public, to whose indulgence 
J have owed my $amgfroid much more than to any merit of my 

' * I would psrtiealaily intimate the Kalm of Urio, on ttue easten -coait 
of Scotland, as having niggested an idea for tlie tower called Wolfs-Crag, 
wiiich the public more geoeially Jdentifled with the andent tower of Fut- 

Outle. 



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CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. 29^ 

own, if I confess that I am, and have be^i, more indifferent to 
socoess, or to failure, as an author, than may be the case with 
others, who feel more strongly the passion for literary fiune, pro- 
bably because they are justly conscious of a better title to it. It 
was not until T had attained the age of thirty years that I made 
any serious attempt at distinguishing myself as an author ; and 
at that period, men's hopes, desires, and ^joshes, faaye usually 
acquired somethin)^ of a de^tisiye dmraeter, and are not eagerly 
and easily diverted into a new channeL When I made the dis- 
covery, — for to me it was one,^— that by amusing myself with 
composition, which I felt a delightful occupation, I could also give 
pleasure to others, and became aware that literary pursuits wera 
likely to engage in future a considerable portion of my time, I 
felt some alarm that I might acquire those habits of jealousy and 
fretfhlness which have lessened, and degraded, the character even 
of great autiiors, and rendered them, by their petty squabbles and 
mutual irritability, the hiughing-stock of the people of the world. 
I resolved, therefore, in this respect, to guard my breast, perhaps 
an unfriendly critic may add, my brow, with triple brass, * and as 
much as possible to avoid resting my thoughts and wishes upon 
literary success, lest I should endanger my own peace of mind 
and tranquillity by literary fiulure. It would argue either stupid 
apathy, or ridiculous affectation, to say that I have been insensible 
to the public appUbUse, when I have been honoured with its testi- 
monies ; and still more highly do I prize the invaluable friend- 
ships which some temporary popularity has enaUed me to fonn 
among those of my contemporaries most distinguished by talents 
and genius, and which I venture to hope now rest upon a basis 
more firm than the circumstances which gave rise to them. Yet 
feeling all these advantages as a num ought to do^ and must do, I 
may say, with truth and confidence, that I have, I think, tasted 
of the intoxicating cup with moderation, and that I have never, 
dther in conversation or correfi(pondence, encouraged discussions 
respecting my own literary pursuits. On the contrary, I have 
usually found such topics, even when introduced &om motives 
most flattering to myself, rather embarrassing and disagreeable. 
I have now frankly told my motives for concealment, so far as 
I am conscious of having any, and the public will forgive the 
egotism of the detail, as what is necessarily connected with it. 
The author, so long and loudly called for, has appeared on the 
stage, and made his obeisance to the audience. Thus far his 

* Not altogether impo«dble, when it ia considered that I have been at the 
Ur since 1798. (Ang. 1831.) 



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234 INTRODUCTION TO 

eonduet is a mark of reepect To linger in their presence would 
beintmsion. 

I have only to repeat, that I avow myself in print, as formerly 
in words, the sole and unassisted author of all the Novels 
published as works of the '^ Author of Waverley." I do this 
without shame, for I am unoonsdous that there is any thing in 
their composition which deserves reproadi, either on the score of 
religion or morality; and without any feeling of exultation, 
because, whatever may have been their temporary success, I am 
well aware how mudi their reputation depends upon the ci^rice 
of fashion ; and I have already mentioned the precarious tenure 
by which it is held, as a reason for displaying no great avidity in 
grasping at the possession. 

I ou^ht to mention, before concluding, that twenty persons, at 
least, were, either from intimacy or from the confidence which 
circumstances rendered necessary, participant of this secret ; and 
as there was no instance, to my knowledge, of any one of the 
number breaking faith, I am the more obliged to them, because 
the slight and trivial character of the mystery was not qualified 
to inspire much respect in tiiose intrusted with it. Neverthekasy 
like Jack the Giant-Killer, I was fully o(mfident in the advantage 
of my ^ Coat of Darkness,'' and had it not been from compulsory 
dreumstances, I would indeed have been very cautious how I 
parted with it. 

As for the work which follows, it was meditated, and in part 
I»inted, long before the avowal of the novels took pUoe, and 
was originally commenced with a declaration that it was neither 
to have introduction nor preface of any kind. This long proem, 
prefixed to a work intended not to have any, may, however, serve 
to shew how human purposes, in the most trifling, as well as the 
most important affiurs, are liable to be controlled by the course of 
events. Thus, we begin to cross a strong river with our eyes and 
our resolution fixed on that point of the opposite shore, on which 
we purpose to land ; but, gradually giving way to the torrent, are 
glad, by the aid perhaps of brandi or bush, to extricate ourselves 
at some distant and perhaps dangerous landing-place, much 
farther down the stream than that on which we had fixed our 
intentions. 

Hoping that the Ck>urteous Reader will afibrd to a known and 
familiar acquaintance some portion of the favour which he 
extended to a disguised candidate for his appkuse, I beg leave te 
subscribe myself his obliged humble servant, 

WALTER SCOTT. 
Abbotsvord, October 1, 1827- 



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CHRONICLES OF THE CAT^ONGA'L'K. 295 

Suca was the little narratiye which I thought proper to put 
forth in October, 1827 : nor have I much to add to it now. About 
to appear for the first tune in my own name in this department 
of letters, it occurred to me that something in the shape of a 
periodical publication might carry with it a certain air of novelty, 
and I was willing to break, if I may so express it, the abruptness 
of my personal forthcoming, by investing an imaginary coadjutor 
with at least as much distinctness of individual existence as I had 
ever previously thought it worth while to bestow on shadows of 
the same convenient tribe. Of course, it had never been in my 
contemplation to invite the assistance of any real person in the 
sustaining of my quasi-editorial character and labours. It had 
long been my opinion, that any thing like a literary picnic is 
Ukely to end in suggesting comparisons, justly termed odious, and 
therefore to be avoided : and, indeed, I had also had some occa- 
sion to know, that promises of assistance, in efforts of that order, 
are apt to be more magnificent than the subsequent performance. 
I therefore planned a miscellany, to be dependent, after the old 
fashion, on my own resources alone, and although conscious 
enough that the moment which assigned to the Author of Waver- 
ley << a local habitation and a name," had seriously endangered 
his spell, I felt inclined to adopt the sentiment of my old hero 
Montrose, and to say to myself, that in literature, as in war, 

" He either fean his fate too much, 

Or his deserts are small, 
Who dares not put it to the toadi. 

To win or lost it all" 

To the particulars explanatory of the plan of these Chronicles, 
which the reader is presented with in Chapter II. by the imagi- 
nary Editor, Mr Croftangry, I have now to add, that the lady, 
termed in his narrative, Mrs Bethune Baliol, was designed to 
shadow out ir its leading points the interesting character of a 
dear friend of mine, Mrs Murray Keith,* whose death occurring 
shortly before, had saddened a wide circle, much attached to her, 
as well for her genuine virtue and amiable qualities of disposition, 
as for the extent of information which she possessed, and the de- 
lightful manner in which she was used to communicate it. In 
truth, the author had, on many occasions, been indebted to her 
vivid memory for the tubttratum of his Scottish fictions — and she 
accordingly had been, from an early period, at no loss to fix the 
Waverley Novels on the right culprit. 

* See Note A. Family qf Keith, 



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J9tf INTRODUCTION TO CHHONICLKS OF THE CANONGATE. 

In the sketch of ChrystalCroftangry's own history, the author 
has been accused of introducing some not polite allusions to respect* 
able living individuals : but he may safely, he presumes, pass over 
such an insinuation. The first of the narratives which Mr Croft- 
angry proceeds to lay before the public, " The Highland Widow,** 
was derived &om Mrs Murray Keith, and is given, with the excep- 
tion of a few additional circumstances — the introduction of which. 
I am rather inclined to regret — very much as the excellent old 
lady used to tell the story. Neither the Highland cicerone Mac^ 
Leish, nor the demure waiting-woman, were drawn from imagina- 
tion ; and on re-reading my tale, after the lapse of a few years^ 
and comparing its effect with my remembrance of my worthy 
friend's oral narration, which was certainly extremely affecting, 
I cannot but suspect myself of having marred its simplicity by 
some of those interpolations, which, at the time when I penned 
them, no doubt passed with myself for embellishments. 

The next tale, entitled " The Two Drovers," I learned from 
another old friend, the late George Constable, Esq. of Wallace- 
Craigie, near Dundee, whom I have already introduced to my 
reader as the original Antiquary of Monkbams. He had been 
present, I think, at the trial at Carlisle, and seldom mentioned the 
Venerable Judge's charge to the jury, without shedding tears, — 
which had peculiar pathos, as flowing down features, carrying 
rather a sarcastic, or almost a cynical expression. 

This worthy gentleman's reputation for shrewd Scottish sense 
— knowledge of our national antiquities — and a racy humour, 
peculiar to himself — must be still remembered. For myself, I 
have pridd in recordings that for many years we were, in Words- 
worth's language, 

*' ——a pair of friends, though I was young. 
And * George' was leventy-two." 

W.& 

Absotbpord, At^» 15, 1831. 



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APPENDIX 



INTRODUCTION. 



[It hM been suggested to the Author, that ft might be well to reprint here A 
detailed account of the public dinner alluded to in the foregoing Introdnetion, 
as given in the newq;>aper8 of the time ; and the reader is acoordinfl^y presented 
with the following extract from the Eoinbuboh Wxckly Journai. for Wed- 
nesday, S8th Februaiy, 18270 



THEATRICAL FUND DINNER. 

Bbpoeb proceeding with our aoconnt of this very interetting 
leBtiTal — for so it may be termed — it is onr daty to present to 
our readers the following letter^ which we have reoeired from the 
President : 

TO THE BDITOB OF THE BDINBTTSOH WEEKLY JOURNAL* 

Sir, — I am extremely sorry I have not leisure to correct the 
eopy you sent me of what I am stated to have said at the Dinner 
for the Theatrical Fund. I am no orator ; and upon such occa- 
sions as are alluded to, I say a9 well as I can what the time 
requires. 

Howeyer, I hope your reporter has been more accurate in 
other instances than in mine. I have corrected one passage, in 
which I am made to speak witii great impropriety and petulance, 
respecting the opinions of those who did not approve of dramatic 
entertainments. I have restored what I said, which was meant 
to be respectful, as every objection founded in conscience is, in 
n^ opinion, entitled to be so treated. Other errors I left as I 



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298 APPENDIX TO 

found them, it being of little consequence whether I spoke sense 
or nonsense, in what was merely intended for the purpose of the 
Lour. 

I am, sir, 

Your obedient servant, 

Waltek Scott. 
Edinburgh, Monday. 



The Theatrical Fund Dinner, which took place on Friday, in 
the Assembly Rooms, was conducted with admirable spirit. The 
Chairman, Sir Walter Scott, among his other great qualifica- 
tions, is well fitted to enliven such an entertainment. His man- 
ners are extremely easy, and his style of speaking simple and 
natural, yet full of vivacity and point ; and he has the art, if it 
be art, of relaxing into a certain homeliness of manner, without 
losing one particle of his dignity. He thus takes off some of that 
solemn formality which belongs to such meetings, and, by his 
easy and graceful familiarity, imparts to them somewhat of the 
pleasing character of a private entertainment Near Sir W. 
Scott sat the Earl of Fife, Lord Meadowbank, Sir John Hope of 
Pinkie, Bart, Admiral Adam, Baron Clerk Rattray, Gilbert 
Innes, Esq., James Walker, Esq., Robert Dundas, Esq., Alex- 
ander Smith, Esq., &c. 

The ck>th being removed, ^ Non Nobis Domine'' was sung by 
Messrs Thome, Swift, Collier, and Hartley, after which the follow- 
ing toasts were given from the chair : — 

^ The King" — all the honours. 

<< The Duke of Clarence and the Royal Family." 

The Chairman, in proposing the next toast, which he wished 
to be drunk in solemn silence, said, it was to the memory of a 
regretted prince, whom we had lately lost. Every individual 
would at once conjecture to whom he alluded. He had no inten* 
tion to dwell on his military merits. They had been told in the 
senate ; they had been repeated in the cottage ; and whenever a 
soldier was the theme, his name was never far distant But it 
was chiefly in connection with the business of this meeting, whid) 
his late RK>yal Highness had condescended in a particular manner 
to patronise, that they were called on to drink to his memory. 
To that charity he had often sacrificed his time, and had given 
up the litUe leisure which he had from important business. He 
was always ready to attend on every occasion of this kind; and it 



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INTBODUGTION. 299 

was in that view that he proposed to drink to the memory of hit 
late Royal Highness the Duke of York. — Drunk in solemn 
silence. 

The Chairman then requested that gentlemen would fill a bumper 
as full as it would hM, while he would say only a few words. He 
was in the habit of hearing speechesi, and he knew the feeling with 
which long ones were regarded. He was sure that it was perfectly 
unnecessary for him to enter into any vindication of the dramatic 
art, which they had come here to support. This, however, he 
considered to be the proper time and proper occasion for him 
to say a few words on that love of representation which was an 
innate feeling in human nature. It was the first amusement that 
the child had — it grew greater as he grew up ; and, even in the 
decline of life, nothing amused so much as when a common tale 
is told with appropriate personification. The first thing a child 
does is to ape his schoolmaster, by flogging a chair. The assu- 
ming a character ourselves, or the seeing others assume an ima- 
ginary character, is an enjoyment natural to humanity. It was 
implfuited in our very nature, to take pleasure from such repre- 
sentations, at proper times and on proper occasions. In all agee 
the theatrical art had kept pace with the improvement of man- 
kind, and with the progresis of letters and the fine arts. As man 
has advanced from the ruder stages of society, the love of dra- 
matic representations has increased, and all works of this natore 
have been improved, in character and in structure. They had 
only to turn their eyes to the history of ancient Greece, although 
he did not pretend to be very deeply versed in its ancient drama^ 
Its first tragic poet commanded a body of troops at the battle of 
Marathon. Sophocles and Euripides were men of rank in Athens^ 
when Athens was in its highest renown. They shook Athens 
with their discourses, as their theatrical works eliook the theatre 
itself. If they turned to France in the time of Louis the Four- 
teenth, that era which is the classical history of that country, 
they would find that it was refeifred to by all Frenchmen as the 
golden age of the drama there. And also in England, in the 
time of Queen Elizabeth, the drama was at its highest pitch, when 
the nation began to mingle deeply and wisely in the general poli- 
ties of Europe, not only not receiving laws from others, but giving 
laws to the world, and vindicating the rights of mankind. 
(Cheers.) There have been various times when the dramatic 
art Bubseq^sntiy fell into disrepute. lis professors have been 
stigmatized ; and laws have been passed against them, less dia- 
honoorablc to them than to the statesman by whom they were 



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800 APPlSNDIX TO 

|>ropoBed, and to the legislators by whom they were adopted* 
What were the times in which these laws were passed I Was it 
not when virtue was seldom inculcated as a moral duty, that we 
were required to relinquish the most rational of all our amuse- 
tnents, when the clergy were enjoined celibacy, and when the 
laity were denied the ri^t to read their Bibles I He thought 
that it must have been from a notion of penance that they erected 
the drama into an ideal place of profaneness, and spoke of the 
theatre as of the tents of sin. He did not mean to dispute, that 
there were many exceUent persons who thought differently from 
him, and he disclaimed the slightest idea of charging <them with 
bigotry or hypocrisy on that acconnt He gave them full credit 
for their tender consciences, in making these objections, although 
they did not appear relevant to him. But to these persons, being, 
AS he believed them, men of worth and piety, he was sure the 
pnrpose of this meeting would fiimish some apology for an error, 
if there be any, in the opinions of those who attend. They would 
approve the gift, although they might differ in other points^ 
Such might not approve of going to the Theatre, but at least 
could not deny that they might give away from their superfluity) 
what was required for the relief of the sick, the support of the 
aged, and the comfort of the afflicted. These were duties en- 
joined by our religion itself. (Loud cheers.) 

The performers are in a particular manner entitled to the sup* 
port or regard, when in old age or distress, of those who had 
partaken of the amusements of those places which they render an 
ornament to society. Their art was of a peculiarly delicate and 
precarious nature. They had to serve a long apprenticeship* It 
was very long before even the first-rate geniuses could acquire 
the mechanical knowledge of the stage business. They most 
languish long in obscurity before they can avail themselves of 
their natural talents ; and after that, they have but a short space 
of time, during which they are fortunate if they can provide the 
means of comfort in the decline of life. That comes late, and 
lasts but a short time ; after which they are left dependent. Their 
limbs fail — their teeth are loosened — their voice is lost — and 
liiey are left, after giving happiness to others, in a most disconso- 
late state. The public were liberal and generous to those deserv- 
ing their protection. It was a sad thing to be dependent on the 
favour, or, he might say, in plain terms, on the caprice, of the 
public ; and this mote particularly for a class of persons of whom 
extreme prudence is not the character. There might be instances 
of opportunities being neglected ; but let each gentleman tak 



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INTRODUCTION. SOI 

himself, and eonsider ik^ opportunities they had negieeted, and 
the sums of money they had wasted ; let every gentleman look 
into his own hosom, and say whether these were circumstanoet 
whidi would soften his own feelings, were he to he plunged into 
distress. He put it to every generous hosom— to every better 
feeling — to say what consolation was it to old age to be told that 
you might have made provision at a time which had been 
neglected — (loud cheerv), — and to find it objected, that if you 
had pleased you might have been wealthy. He had hitherto been 
speaking of what,*in theatrical language^ was called etare, but they 
were sometimes falling ones. There were another class of sufferers 
naturally and necessarily connected with the theatre, without 
whom it was impossible to go on. The sailors have a saying, 
every man cannot be a boatswain. If there must be a great actor 
•to act Hamlet, there must also be people to act Laertes, the King, 
Rosencranta, and Guildenstem, otherwise a drama cannot go on. 
If even Chirrick himself were to rise from the dead, he could not 
ACt Hamlet alone. There must be generals, colonels, command- 
ing^officers, subalterns. But what are the private soldiers to do ! 
Many have mistaken their own talents, and have been driven in 
«arly youth to try the stage, to which they are not -competent. 
He would know what to say to the indifferent poet and to the bad 
artist He would say that it was foolish ; and he would recom- 
mend to the poet to become a scribe, and ike artist to paint sign- 
posts — (loud laughter). — But you could not send the player 
adrift, for if he cannot play Hamlet^ he must phiy Guildenstem. 
Where there are many labourers, wages mnst be k>Wy and no 
man in such a situation can decently support a wife and family, 
and save something oflP his income for old age. What is this man 
to do in latter life ! Are you to cast him oflP like an old hinge^or 
p piece of useless machinery, which has done its work t To a 
person who had contributed to our amusement^ this would be 
uukind, ungrateful, and unchristian. His wants are not of his 
own making, but arise from the natural sources of sickness and 
old age. It cannot be denied that there is one dass of sufferers 
to whom no im^midence can be ascribed, except on first entering 
on the profession. After putting his hand to the dramatic plough, 
he cannot draw back ; but must continue at it, and toil, till death 
release him from want ; or charity, by its milder influence, steps 
in to rraider that want more tolerable. He had littie more to say, 
«xoept that he sincerely hoped that the collection to-day, from 
the number of respectable gentlemen present, would meet tlie 
views entertained by the patrons. He hoped it would do so. 



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SOS APPENDIX TO 

They shotild not be cBsheartened. Though th«y could not do a 
great deal, they might do something. They had thisoonst^tion, 
that every thing they parted with from their superfluity would do 
some good. They would sleep the better themselves when they 
hftve been the means of giving sleep to others. It was ungrateful 
fend unkind, that those who had sacrifled their youth to our amuse** 
ment should not rec^ve the reward due to them, but should be 
reduced to hard &re in their old age. We cannot think of poor 
Falstaff going to bed without his cup of sack, or Macbeth fed on 
bones as marrowless as those of Banquo. — (Loud cheers and 
laughter.) — As he believed that they were all as fond of the 
dramatic art as he was in his younger days, he would propose that 
they should drink «* The Theatrical Fund," with three times 
three. 

Mr Mackat rose, on behalf of his brethren, to return thenr 
thanks for the toast just drunk. Many of the gentlemen present, 
he said, were perhaps not fully acquainted with the nature and 
intention of the institution, and it might not be amiss to enter into 
some explanation on the subject With whomsoever the idea ef 
a Theatrical Fund might have originated, (and it had been dis- 
puted by the surviving relatives of two or three individuiUs,) 
certain it was, that the first legally constituted Theatrical Fund, 
owed its origin to one of the brightest ornaments of the professioii, 
the late David Oaniok. That eminent actor conceived that, by a 
weekly subscription in the Theatre, a fund might be raised among 
its members, from which a portion might be given to those of his 
less fbrtunate brethren, and thus an opportunity would be offered - 
for prudence to provide what fortune had denied — a comfortable 
provimon for the winter of Kfe. With tiie welfare of his profe«^ 
sion constantly at heart, the zeal with which he laboured tx> 
uphold its respectability, and to ingress upon the minds of his 
brethren, not only the necessity, but the blessing of independence, 
the Fund t>eoame his peculiar care. He drew up a form of laws 
for its government, procured, at his own expense, the passing of 
an Act of Parliament for its conflrmation, bequeathed to it a 
handsome legacy, and thus became the Father of the Drury-Lane 
Fund. So constant was his attachment to this infont establish- 
ment, that he daoee to grace the close of the brightest theatrical 
life on record, by the last du^lay of his transcendent talent, on 
the occaffion of a benefit for thk child of his adoption, which ever 
since has gone by the name of the Grarrick Fund. In iraitatioii 
of his noble example, Funds had been established hi mveral 
provindal theatres in England ; but it remained for Mrs Henry 



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INTRODUCTION. 30) 

Siildons and Mr William Murray to become the founders of the first 
Theatrical Fund in Scotland. (Cheers.) This Fund commenced 
"under the most favourable auspices ; it was liberally supported by 
the mana^ment, and highly patronized by the puUic. Notwith- 
standing, it fell short in the accomplishment of its intentions. What 
those intentions were, he (Mr Mackay) need not recapitulate, but 
they failed ; and he did not hesitate to confess that a want of 
energy on the part of the performers was the probable cauas. A 
new set of Rules and Regulations were lately drawn up^ submitted 
to and approved of at a general meeting <^ the members of the 
Theatre ; and accordingly the Fund was re-modelled on the 1st of 
January last. And here he thought he did but echo the feelings 
of his ln«thren, by publicly acknowledging the obligations they 
were under to the management, for the aid given, and the warm 
interest Ihey had all lUong taken in the welfare of' the Fund. 
(Cheers.) The nature and object of ^e profesidtm had been so 
well treabed of by the President, that he would say nothing ; but 
of the numerous ofispring of science and genius that court 
precarious fame, the Actor boasts the slenderest claim of all ; the 
sport of fortune, the creatures of fashion, and the victims of 
caprice — they are seen, heard, and admired, but to be forgot — 
they leave no trace, no memorial of <^eir existence — tiiey ^ come 
like fihadows, so depart.*' (Cheers.) Yet humble though their 
pretensions be, <here was no profession, trade, or calling, where 
nwk a combination of requisites, mental and bodily, were mdis- 
pessable. In all others the principal may practise after he has 
been visited by the afilicting hand of Providence— some by the 
loss of Kmb— some of voice — and many, when the faculty of the 
mind is on the wane, may be assisted by dutiful children, or 
devoted servants. Not so the Actor — he must retain aU he ever 
did possess, or sink dejected to a mournful home. (Applause.) 
Yet while they are toiling for ephemeral theatric fame, how very 
few ever possess the means of hoarding in their youth that which 
would give bread in <M age ! But now a brighter prospect 
dawned upon them, and to the success of this Uieir iniknt esta- 
blishment they looked with hope, as to a comfortable and peaceful 
home in their dedining years. He conchided by tendering to 
the meeting, in the name of his brethren and sisters, thenr 
ui^igned thanks for their liberal support, and begged to propose 
iie heaK^ of the Patrons of the Edinburgh Theatrical Fond. 
<Cheen.) 

Lord Mbadowban k siud, that by desire of his Ho^. Friend in 
the chair, and of his Noble Friend at his right hand, he beg^ 



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304 APPENDIX TO 

leave to return thanks for the honour which had been conferred 
on the Patrons of this excellent I^istitntion. He could answer 
for himself— he could answer for them all — that they were deeply 
impressed with the meritorious objects which it has in view, and 
of their anxious wish to promote its interests. For himself, he 
might be permitted to say, that he was rather surprised at finding 
his own name as one of the Patrons, associated with so many 
individuals of high rank and powerful influence. 'But it was an 
excuse for those who had placed him in a situation so honourable 
and so distinguished, that when tfab charity was instituted, he 
happened to hold a high and responfflble station under the Crown, 
when he might have been of use in assisting and promoting its 
objects. His Lordship much feared that he could have little 
expectation, situated as he now was, of doing either ; but he could 
confidently assert, that few things would give him greater gratifi- 
cation than being able to contribute to its prosperity and support ; 
and, indeed, when one recollects the pleasure which at all periods 
of life he has received from the exhibitions of the stage, and tiie 
exertions of the meritorious individuals for whose aid this fund 
has been established, he must be divested both of gratitude and 
feeling who would not give his best endeavours to promote its 
welfare. And now, that he might in some measure repay the 
gratification which had been afibrded himself, he would beg leave 
to propose a toast, the health of one of the Patrons, — a great and 
distinguished individual, whose name must' always stand by itself, 
and which, in an assembly such as this, or in any other assembly 
of Scotsmen, can never be received, not, he would say, wita 
ordinary feelings of pleasure or of delight, but with those of 
rapture and enthusiasm. In doing so he felt that he stood in a 
somewhat new situation. Whoever had been called upon to propose 
the health of his Hon. Friend to whom he alluded, some time ago, 
would have found himself enabled, from the mystery in which 
certain matters were involved, to gratify himself and his auditors 
by allusions which found a respoitding chord in their own feelings, 
and to deal in the language, the sincere language, of panegyric, 
without intruding on the modesty of the great individual to whom 
he referred* But it was no longer possible, considtentiy with the 
respect to one's auditors, to use upon this subject terms either of 
mystification, or of obscure or indirect allusion. The clouds have 
been dispelled — the darkneu viaihle has been cleared away — and 
the Great Unknown — the minstrel of our native land— the mighty 
magician who has rolled back the current of time, and conjured 
up before our living senses the men and the manners of days 



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INTaODUCTION. 305 

vhidi hare long paseed away, stands r^yealed to the hearts 
and the eyes of bis affectionate and admiring countrymen. If 
ha himself were capable of imagining all that belonged to this 
miglity sabject ^- were he eren able to ^vc utteratce to all that, 
as a firiend, as a man» and as a Scotsman, he must feel regarding 
it ; yet knowing, as he well did, that this illustrious individual 
was not more distinguished for his towering talents, than for 
those feelings which rendered such allusions ungrateful to him- 
self, howeiEfir sparingly introduced, he would, on that account, 
stiU refirain from doing that which would otherwise be no less 
pleamng to him than to his audience. But this, his Lordship 
hoped, he would be allowed to say, (his auditors would not pardon 
him were he to say less,) we owe to him, as a people, a large and 
heavy debt of gratitude. He it is who has opened to foreigners 
the grand and characteristic beauties of our country. It is to 
him tiiat we owe that our gallant ancestors, and the struggles of 
our iUustrioDS patriots, — who fought and bled in order to 
obtain and secure that independence and that liberty we now 
enjoy,*— have obtained a fame no longer confined to the 
boundaries of a remote and comparatively obscure nation, and 
who has called down npon their struggles for glory and freedom 
the admiration of foreign countries. He it is who has conferred 
a new reputation on our national character, and bestowed on 
Scotland an imperishable name, were it only by her having 
given birth to himself. (Loud and rapturous applause.) 

Sir Waltek Scott certainly did not think that, in coming here 
to-day, he would have the task of acknowledging, before three hun- 
dred gentlemen, a secret which, considering that it was communi- 
cated to more than twenty people, had been remarkably well kept. 
He was now before the bar of his country, and might be understood 
to be on trial before Lord Meadowbank as an offender ; yet he 
was sure that every impartial jury would bring in a verdict of 
Not Proven. He did not now Uiink it necessary to enter into the 
reasons of his long silence. Perhaps caprice might have a con- 
siderable share in it He had now to say, however, that the 
m^ts of these works, if they had any, and tlieir faults, were en- 
firely imputable to himself. (Long and loud cheering.) He was 
afraid to think on what he had done — '' look on 't again I dare 
aiot." He had thus far unbosomed himself, and he knew that it 
would be reported to the public. He meant, then, seriously to 
state, that when he said he was the author, he was the total and 
nndivided author. With the exception of quotations, there was 
not a single word that was not derived from himself, or suggested 

TOL. XIX. u 



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300 APPENDIX TO 

in the oonne of his reading. The wand was now broken, and the 
book bnried. You will allow me farther to say, with Prospero, it 
is your breath that has filled my sails, and to crave one single 
toast in the capacity of the author of these novels ; and he would 
dedicate a bumper to the health of one who has represented some 
of those characters, of which he had endeavouieci to give the 
skeleton, with a degree of liveliness which rendered him grateful. 
He would propose the health of his friend Bailie Niool Jarvie, 
(loud applause) — and he was sure, that when the author of 
Waverley and Rob Roy drinks to Nicol Jarvie, it would be re- 
ceived with that degree of applause to which that gentleman has 
always been accustomed^ and that they would take care that on 
the present occasion it should be pbodioious ! (Long and vehe- 
ment applause.) 

Mb Mackay, who here spoke with great humour in the cha- 
racter of Bailie Jarvie. — My conscience ! My worthy fiither 
the deacon could not have believed that his son could hae had sic 
a compliment paid to him by the Great Unknown ! 

Sir Walter Scott. — The Small Known now, Mr Bailie. 

Mr Mackat. — He had been long identified with the Bailie, 
and he was vain of the cognomen which he had now worn for 
eight years; and he questioned if any of his brethren in the 
Coundl had given sudi universal satis&ction. (Loud laughter 
and applause.) Before he sat down, he begged to propose ^ The 
Lord Provost, and the Qty of Edinburgh." 

Sir Walter Scott apologized for the absence of the Lord 
Provost, who had gone to London on public business. 

Tune — ^ Within a mile of Edinburgh town." 

Sir Walter Scott gave, ** The Duke of Wellington and the 
Army." 

Glee — <* How merrily we Kve." 

<< Lord Melville and the Navy, that fought till they left nobody 
to fight with, like an arch sportsman who clears aU and goes after 
the game." 

Mr Pat. Robertson. — They had heard this evening a toast, 
which had been received with intense delight, which will be pub- 
lished in every newspaper, and will be hailed with joy by all 
Europe. He had one toast assigned him which he had great 
pleasure in giving. He was sure that the stage had in aU ages a 
great effect on the morals and manners of the people. It was 
very desirable that the stage should be well regulated ; and there 
was no criterion by which its regulation could be better deter- 
mined than by the moral character and personal respectability of 



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INTRODUCTION. 307 

the performers. He was not one of those stem moralists who 
objected to the Theatre. The most fastidioas moralist could not 
possibly apprehend any injury from the stage of Edinburgh, as it 
was presently managed, and so long as it was adorned by that 
illustrious individual, Mrs Henry Siddons, whose public exhibi- 
tions were not more remarkable for feminine grace and delir 
cacy, than was her private character for every virtue which could 
be admired in domestic life. He would conclude with reciting a 
few words from Shakespeare, in a spirit not of contradiction to 
those stem moralists who disliked the Theatre, but of meekness : — ^ 
^* Good, my lord, will you see the players well bestowed I do you 
hear, let them be well used, for they are the abstract and brief 
chronicles of the time." He then gave ^ Mrs Henry Siddons, 
and success to the Theatre-Royal of Edinburgh." 

M& Mu&R^T. — Grentlemen, I rise to return thanks for tlie 
honour you have done Mrs Siddons, in doing which I am some- 
what d^culted, from the extreme delicacy which attends a 
brother's expatiatmg upon a sister's claims to honours publicly 
paid — (hear, hear) — yet, Gentlemen, your kindness imboldens 
me to say, that were I to give utterance to aU a brother's feelings, 
I should not exaggerate those daims. (Loud applause.) I there- 
fore, Grentlemen, thank you most cordially for the honour you have 
done her, and shall now request permission to make an observa- 
tion on the establidmient of the Edinburgh Theatrical Fund. Mr 
Mackay has done Mrs Henry Siddons and myself the honour to 
ascribe the establishment to us ; but no, Grentlemen, it owes its 
origin to a higher source — the publication of the novel of Rob 
Roy — the unprecedented success of the opera adapted from that 
popular production. (Hear, hear.) It was that success whidi 
relieved the Edinburgh Theatre from its difficulties, and enabled 
Mrs Siddons to carry into effect the establishment of a fund slie 
had long desired, but was prevented from effecting, from the un- 
settled state of her theatri«il concerns. I therefore hope that, in 
future years, when the aged and infirm actor derives relief from 
tliis fund, he will, in the language of the gallant Highlander, 
*^ Cast his eye to good old Scotlai^ly and not forget Rob Roy." 
(Loud apphiuse.) 

Sib Walter Scott here stated, tliat Mrs Siddons wanted the 
means but not the will of beginning the Theatrical Fund. He 
here alluded to the great merits of Mr Murray's management, 
aud to his merits as an actor, which were of the first order, and 
of which every person who attends the Theatre must be sensible ; 
and after alluding to the embarrassments vrith which the Thea^ 



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308 APPENDIX TO 

had been at one period threatened, he oonelnded by giviag Ifae 
health of Mr Murray, wfaidi was dnmk with three tunes three. 

M& M VR&AT. — Grcntlemen, I wish I oonld believe, that, in mbj 
degree, I merited the comp&nents with which it has pleased Sir 
Walter Scott to preface the proposal of my health, or the very 
flattering manner in which yoe* have' done me the honour to're- 
oeive it The approbation of such an assembly Ib most gratifying 
to me, and might encourage feelings of vanity, were not sudi 
feelings crushed by my conviction, that no man holding the situa- 
tion I have so long held in Edinburgh, could have fiailed, placed 
in the peculiar circumstances in which I have been placed. 
Gentlemen, I shall not inscdt your good taste by eulogiums upon 
your judgment or kindly feeling ; though to the first I owe any 
improvement I may have made as an actor, and o«rtainly my 
success as a Manager to the second. (Applause.) When, upon 
&e death of my dear brother, the late Mr Siddons, it was pro- 
posed that I should undertake the management of j(be Edinburgh 
Theatre, I confess I drew back, doubling my capability to free it 
from the load of debt and difficulty wift which it was surrounded. 
' In this state of anxiety, I solidted the advdoe of one who had ever 
honoured me with his kindest regard, and whose name no mem- 
ber of my profession can pronounce without feelings tof the .deepest 
respect and gratitude — I allude to <he late A& John Kemble. 
(Great applause.) To him I applied ; and ndth the repetition of 
his advice I diaQ cease to trespass upen yovr itkne — (Hear, 
hear.) -r^ My dear William, fear not'; iategaty and assiduity 
must prove an overmatch for aU difficulty-; and titoiigh I a^rove 
your not indulging a vain confidence in your own ability, and 
-viewing with respectful appr^ension the judgment of the audience 
^ou have to act before, yet be assured ibat ju^ment will ever be 
tempered by the feeling that you are acting fer Jthe widow and the 
fatherless." (Loud applause.) Gentiemen, those words have 
never passed from my mind ; und I feel convinced that you have 
pardoned my many errors, from the feeling that I was striving 
for the widow and ihe fatherless. (Long and entfausiastie appUuse 
followed Mr Murray's address.) 

Sib Walter Scott gave the health of the Stewards. 

Mb Vandenhoff. — Mr President and GrentleniBn,&e honour 
conferred upon the Stewards, in the very flattering comfdiment 
you hare just paid us, calls forth our warmest admowledgments. 
In tendering you our thanks for Ihe approbation you have been 
pleased to express of our humble exertions, I would beg leave to 
advert to the cause in which we have been engaged. Yet» sor- 



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INTBODUGTIOH. 309 

fminded as I am by tbe genius — the eloquence of tb^ enliglitened 
city, I cannot but feel the presumption which rentures to addren 
you on. 80 interesting a subject AccostoHied to speak in the 
language of others, I feel quite at a loss for terms wherein to eloth^ 
tiK sentiments excited by the present oecasionr (Applause.) The 
nature of the Institution which has sought your fostering patron- 
age, and the objects which it contemplates, hare been fully ex- 
phdned to you. But, gentlemen, the relief whieh it proposes is 
not a gratuitous relief — but to be purchased by Uie indiyidual 
contribution ol its menbers towards the general good. This 
Fuid lends no enoouragement to idleness or improYidence ; but 
it offers an opportunity to prudence, in vigour and youtii, to make 
proTision a^^ainst the evening of Mfe and its attendant in&rmity. 
A period is fixed, at which we admit the plea of age as an ex- 
emption firom professional labour. It is painful to b^old the 
veteran on the stage (compelled by necessity) oontewiing against 
physical deoay, mocking^ the joyousness of mirth with the feeble- 
ness of age, when the energies decline, when the memory fuiB^ 
and ^ the big manly voice, tammg again towards childish treble, 
pipes and whistles in the sound." We would remove him from 
tiM omnie scene, where fiction constitutes the charm ; we would 
not view old age ca ri caturing itself. (Applause.) But as our 
means may ,be found, in time of need, inadequate to the fblfilment 
of our wishes — fearfot of raising expectations whieh we may be 
unable to gratify — - desirous not ^ to keep the word of promise to 
the ear, and break it to the hope** — we have presumed to courf 
the assistance of the fiiends of thedrama to str^gthen our in- 
fiint institutioa. Our ^peal has been sueoessful beyond our 
most sanguine expectations^ The distingmshed patronage ccm- 
ferred on us by your presence on this ooeasion, and the substan- 
tial support which your benevolenee has so liberally afforded to 
our institntioii, must impress eveiy member of the Fund with tbe 
most grateful sentiments — sentimenfts which no language can 
express, no time obliterate. (Apfdause.) I will not trespass 
longer on your attention. I would the tai^ of acknowledging our 
obligation had fallen into abler hands. (Hear, hear.) In the 
name of the Stewards, I most respeetfidly and cordially thank yon 
for the honour you have done ns, wtiidi greatly orerpays our poor 
endeavoors. (Applause.) 

[This speech, though rather inadequate^ reported, was one of 
the best delivered on this occasion. That it was creditable to 
Mr Yandenhoff's taste and feelings, the preceding sketch wil 
thevf ; but how much it was so, it does not shew.} 



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310 APPENDIX TO 

. Mr J. Cay gave Professor Wilson and the UniTer^ty of Edin* 
burgh, of which he was one of the brightest ornaments. 

Lord Meadowbank, after a suitable eulogium, gave the £arl 
of Fife, which was drunk with three times three. 

The Earl of Fife expressed his high gratification at the 
honour conferred on him. He intimated his approbation of the 
institution, and his readiness to promote its success by every 
means in his power. He concluded with giving the healUi of the 
Company of Eklinburgh. 

. Mb Jones, on rising to return thanks, being received with con- 
siderable applause, said, he was truly grateful for the kind 
encouragement he had experienced, but the novelty of the dtua- 
tion in which he now was, renewed aU the feelings he expe* 
rienced when he first saw himself announced in the bills as a 
young gentleman, being his first appearance on any stage. 
(Laughter and applause.) Although in the presence of those 
whose indulgence had, in another sphere, so often shielded him 
from the penalties of inabiHty, he was unable to execute the task 
which had so unexpectedly devolved upon him in behalf of his 
brethren and himself. He therefore beggpd the company to imagine 
aU that grateful hearts could prompt the most eloquent to utter> 
and that would be a copy of their feelings. (Applause.) He begged 
to trespass another moment on then: attention, for the purpose of 
expressing the thanks of the members of the Fund to the Gentle- 
men of the Edinburgh Professional Sodety of Musicians, who, 
finding that this meeting was appointed to take place on the same 
evening with their concert, had in the handsomest manner agreed 
to postpone it. Although it was his duty thus to preface the 
toast he had to propose, he was certain the meeting required no 
farther inducement than the recollection of the pleasure tiie 
exertions of those gentlemen had often afforded them within 
those walls, to join heartily in drinking ** Health and prosperity 
to the Edinburgh Professional Society of Musicians." (Applause.) 

Mb Pat. Robebtson proposed '* the health of Mr Jefi&ey,'' 
whose absence was owing to indisposition. The public was well 
aware that he was the most distinguished advocate at the bar ; he 
was tikewise distinguished for the kindness, frankness, and cor- 
dial manner in which he conmiunicated with the junior members 
of the profession, to the esteem of whom his splendid talents 
would always entitle him. 

Mb J. Maconochie gave ^ the health of Mrs Siddons, senior — 
the most distinguished ornament of the stage." 

Sib W. Scott said, that if any thing could reconcile him to okl 



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INTRODUCTION. 311 

age, it was the reflectioii that he had seen the rising as well as 
the setting sun of Mrs Siddons. He remembered weD their 
breakfasting near to the theatre — waiting the whole day — the 
crushing at the doors at six o'clock — and their going in and 
<iounting their fingers till seven o'clock. But the very first step 
— the very first word which she uttered, was sufficient to overpay 
him for all his labours. The house was literally electrified ; and 
it was only from witnessing the effects of her genius, that he 
could guess to what a pitch theatrical excellence could be carried. 
Those young gentlemen who have only seen the setting sun of 
this distinguished peiformer, beautiful and serene as that was, 
must give us old fellows, who have seen its rise and its meridian, 
leave to hold our heads a little higher. 

Mr Dundas gave ''The memory of Home, the author of 
Douglas." 

Mb Mackat here announced that the subscription for the night 
Amounted to L.280 ; and he expressed gratitude for this substan- 
tial proof of their kindness. [We are happy to state that sub- 
scriptions have since flowed in very liberally.] 

Mr Mackat here entertained the company with a pathetic 
song. 

Sir Walter Scott apologized for having so long forgotten their 
native land. He would now give Scotland, the Land of Cakes. 
He would give every river, every loch, every hill, firom Tweed to 
Johnnie Groat's house — every lass in her cottage and countess 
in her castle ; and may her sons stand by her, as their fathers did 
before them, and he who would not drink a bumper to his toast, 
may he never drink whisky more ! 

Sir Walter Scott here gave Lord Meadowbank, who returned 
thanks. 

Mr H. (x. Bell said, that he should not have ventured to 
intrude himself upon the attention of the assembly, did he not 
feel confident, that the toast he begged to have the honour to 
propose, would make amends for the very imperfect manner in 
which he might express his sentiments regarding it It had been 
said, that notwithstanding the mental supremacy of the present 
age, notwithstanding that the page of our history was studded 
w^.th names destined also for the page of immortality, — that the 
genius of Shakespeare was extinct, and the fountain of his inspi- 
ration dried up. It might be that these observations were 
unfortunately correct, or it might be that we were bewilderea 
with a name, not disappointed of the reality, — for though Shake- 
speare had brought a Hamlet, an Othello, and a Macbeth, an 



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SI 2 APPENDIX TO 

Ariel, a Jub'et, and a RbaaHnd, upon the 8<ttge, WdM tlMVi»iidl 
^uthoM liyinjif who had brottght as varied^ as e3UiuiBit6l3r painted, 
and as nndying a range of chanusteito into onr hearts t The 
shape of the mere monld into whidi- genius ponred its golden 
treasures was surely a matter of IitU6 moment — let it be called 
a Tragedy, a Comedy, 6r a Wareriey Novel. But even among 
the dramatic authors of the present day, he was unwilling to.allow 
that there was a great and p^pable decUne from the glory ot 
preceding ages, and his toast alone would bear him out in deny-* 
ing the truth of the proposition. After eulogizing the names of 
Baillie, Byron, Coleridge, Maturin, and others, he begged to have 
the honour of proposing the health of Jamed Sheridan Knowles. 

Sur Walter Scott. — Gentlemen, I crave a bnmper all over. 
The last toast reminds me of a neglect of duty. Unaccustomed 
to a public duty of this kind, errors in conducting the ceremonial 
of it may be excused, and omissions pardoned. Perhaps I have 
made one Or two omissions in this oourdd of the evening, for 
which I trtist you will grant me your pardon and indulgence. One 
thing in particular I have omitted, and I would now wish to 
make amends for it, by a libation of reverence and respect to the 
memory of Shakespeare. He was a man of universsd genius, 
and from a period soon after his own era to the present day, he 
has been universally idolised. When I come to his honoured 
name, I am like the sick man who hung up his crutches at the 
shrine, and was obliged to confess that he did not walk better 
th^n before. It is intleed difficult, gentlemen, to compare him to 
any other individual. The only one to whom I can at all compare 
him, is the wonderful Arabian dervise, who dived into the body 
of each, and in this way became familiar with the thoughts and 
secrets of their hearts. He was a man of obscure origin, and, a» 
a player, limited in his acquirements, but he was bom evidently 
with a universal genius. His eyes glanced at all the varied 
aspects of life, and his fancy portrayed with equal talents the 
king on the throne, and the clown w^to crackles his chestnuts at 
a Christmas fire. Whatever note he takes, he strikes it just and 
true, and awakens a corresponding chord in our own bosoms. 
Gentlemen, I propose « The memory of William Shakespeare.'* 
" Glee, — " Lightly tread, 'tifi hall&wed ground." 
After the glee. Sir Walter rose^ and begged to propose as a 
toast the health of a lady, whose Uving merit is not a little 
honourable to Scotland. The toast (he said) is also flattering to 
the national vanity of a Scotchman, as the lady whom I Intend 
to propose is a native of this country. From the public her woria 



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INTBOinJCTION. aiS 

hhwe tnei vA^ ihe most favonrabla reception^ . One pieed of heft, 
in ptaiactAar^ wtm «ften acted here of laie yean, and gave pleagnre 
of no mean kind to many brilliant and fashionable audiences. In 
her private character she (be begged leare to say^) i» as remark- 
able, as in a publio sense she is for her genius. In short, be 
would in one word name — ** Joanna BaiUie/' 
. -This health b^n^ drnnk, Mr Thome was caUed <m for a song, 
and sung, with great taste and feeling, *^ The Anchor 'sXreighed,** 

W. Men ziBS, Esq. Advoeate, rose t^ propose the health of a 
gentleman for many years connected at interrals with the dramatie 
art in Scotiand. Whether we look at t}>e range of ^aracters he 
performs, or at the capadty which he eyinees in executing those 
which he undertakes, he is equally to be admu?ed« In all ^is 
|iart9 he is nnriTall^» ^ The individual* to whom he alluded Is 
(said he) well known to the gentlemen pi^esent, in the diaracters 
^Malvolio, Lord Ogleby, and the Green Man; and, in addition 
to his other qualities, he merits, for his perfection in these 
characters, the grateful sense of this meeting. He would wiri), 
In the first place, to dlink his healtii as an actor ; but he wm not 
less estimable in domestic life, and as a private gentleman ; and 
when he announced him as one whom the Chairman had honoured 
with his friendship, he was sure that all present would cordially 
join him in drinking ** The health of Mr Terry." 

Mr Willum AtLA)v, banker, said, that he did npt rise with 
the intention of making a speech. He merely wished to contri- 
bute in a few words to the mirth of the evening-^ an evening 
which certainly had not passed off without some blunders. It 
had been understood — at least he had learnt or supposed, from 
the expressions of Mr Pritchard — that it would be sufficient to 
put a paper, with the name of the contributor, into the box, and 
.that the gentleman thus contributing would be called on for the 
money next morning. He, for his part, had committed a blunder, 
but it may serve as a caution to those who may be present at the 
dinner of next year. He had merely put in his name, written on 
a slip of paper, without the money. But he would recommend 
that, as some of the gentlemen might l»e in the same situation, 
the box should be i^ain sent round, and he tras confident that 
they, as well as he, would redeem their^teror. 

Sir Walter Scoit said, that the n^eting was somewhat in the 
situation of Mrs Anne Page, who had L.SOO and possibilities. 
We have already got, s&id he, L.280, but I should Uke, I confess, 
to h'ave the L.300. He, would gratify himself by proposing th^ 
Health of an honourable person, the Lord Chief Baron, whom 



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314 APPENDIX TO 

England has Bent to ns, and (Kmnecting with it that of his ^yoke- 
fellow on the bench," as Shakespeare says, Mr Baron Getk. — 
The Court of Exchequer. 

BIb Bason Clebk regretted the absence of his learned brother. 
None, he was sure, could be more generous in his nature, or more 
ready to help a Scottish purpose. 

Sib Walteb Scott. — There is one who ought to be remem- 
bered on this occasion. He is, indeed, weU entitled to our grate- 
ful recollection — one, in short, to whom the drama in tiiis city 
owes much. He succeeded, not without trouble, and perhaps at 
some considerable sacrifice, in establishing a theatre. The 
younger part of the company may not recollect the theatre to 
which I sjlude ; but there are some with me who may remember 
by name a place called Garrubber's Close. There AUan Bamsay 
established his little theatre. His own pastoral was not fit for the 
stage, but it has its admirers in those who love the Doric language 
in which it Ib written ; and it is not without merits of a very 
peculiar kind. But, laying aside all considerations of his literary 
merit, Allan was a good jovial honest fellow, who could crack a 
bottle with the best — The memory of Allan Ramsay. 

Mb Mubbat, on being requested, sung, ** 'Twas merry in the 
hall," and at the conclusion was greeted with repeated rounds of 
applause. 

Mb Jones. — One omission I conceive has been made. The 
cause of the fimd has been ably advocated, but it is still suscep- 
tible, in my opinion, of an additional charm — 

\^thoat the smile from partial beao^y won. 
Oh, what were man ? — a world without a ran 

And there would not be a darker spot in poetry than would be 
the comer in Shakespeare Square, if, like its fellow, the Register 
Ofiice, the Theatre were deserted by the ladies. They are, in 
fact, our most attractive stars. — *' The Patronesses of the Theatre 
— the Ladies of the City of Edinburgh." This toast I ask leave to 
drink with all the honours which conviviality can confer. 

Mb Patbick Robebtson would be the last man willin^y to 
ihtroduce any topic calculated to interrupt the harmony of the 
evening ; yet he felt himself treading upon ticklish ground when 
he approached the region of the Nor' Loch. He assured the 
company, however, that he was not about to enter on the subject 
of the Improvement bill. They all knew, that if the public were 
unanimous — if the consent of all parties were obtdned — if the 
rights and interests of evexy body were therein attended to. 



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INTRODUCTION. 315 

■aved, reserved, respected, and excepted — if every body agreed 
to it — and finally, a most essential point, if nobody opposed it 

— then, and in that case, and provided also that due intimation 
were given — the bill in question might pass — would pass — or 
might, could, would, or should pass — all expenses being defirayed* 

— (Laughter.) — He was the advocate of neither champion, and 
would neither avul himself of the absence of the Right Hon. the 
Lord Provost^ nor take advantage of the non-appearance of his 
friend, Mr Cockburn. — (Laughter.) — But in the midst of these 
civic broils, there had been elicited a ray of hope, that, at some 
future period, in Bereford Park, or some other place, if all parties 
were consulted and satisfied, and if intimation were duly made at 
the Kirk doors of all the parishes in Scotland, in terms of the 
statute in that behalf provided -^ the people of Edinburgh might 
by possibility get a new theatre. — (Cheers and laughter.) — But 
wherever the belligerent powers might be pleased to set down 
this new theatre, he was sure they all hoped to meet the Old 
Company in it. He should therefore propose — '' Better acoom* 
modation to the Old Company in the new theatre, site unknown." 
T- Mr Robertson's speech was most humorously given, and he sat 
down amidst loud cheers and kughter. 

Sib Walter Scott. — Wherever the new theatre is built, I 
hope it will not be large. There are two errors which we com* 
monly commit — the one arising from our pride, the other from 
our poverty. If there are twelve plans, it is odds but the largest, 
without any regard to comfort, or an eye to the probable expense^ 
is adopted. There was the College projected on this scale, and 
undertaken in the same manner, and who shall see the end of it t 
It has been building all my life, and may probably last during 
the lives of my children, and my children's children. Let not the 
same prophetic hymn be sung, when we commence anew theatre, 
which was performed on the occasion of laying the foundation 
stone of a certain edifice, ** Behold the endless work begun." 
Play-going folks should attend somewhat to convenience. The 
new theatre should, in the first place, be such as may be finished 
in eighteen months or two years ; and, in the second phice, it 
should be one in which we can hear our old friends with comfort. 
It is better that a moderate-sized house should be crowded now 
and then, than to have a large theatre with benches continually 
empty, to the discouragement of the actors, and the discomfort of 
the spectators. — (Applause.) — He then commented in flattering 
terms on the genius of Mackenzie and his private worth, and 
concluded by proposing ^ The health of Henry Mackenzie, Esq." 



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316 APPENDIX TO INTHODUCTIOTT. 

Immediately aftei^wards he sidd : Grentlemen, — It is now 
wearing late, and I shall request permission to retire. Like Par- 
tridge I may say, *^«<wi turn qucdii eram** At ray time of day, 
I can agree with Lord Ogleby as to his rheumatism, and say, 
** There *s a twinge." I hope, therefore, you will excuse me for 
learing the Chair. — (^Hie worthy Baronet then retired amidst 
long, loud, and rapturous cheering.) 

Mb Pat&ick Robertson was then called to the chair by cchd- 
mon acclamation. 

Gentlemen, said M.U Robebtson, I take the liberty of asking 
you to fill a bumper to the very brim. There is not one of us 
who will not remember, whUe he lives, being present at this day's 
festival, and the declaration made this night by the gentieman who 
has just left the chair. That declaration has rent the veil from the 
fortunes of the Great Unknown — a name which must now merge 
in the name of the Great Known. It will be henceforth coupled 
with the name of Scorr, which will become familiar like a house- 
hold word. We have heard this confession from his own immor- 
tal Kps — (cheering) — and we cannot dwell with too much, or 
too fervent praise, on the merits of the greatest man whom Scot- 
land has produced. 

After whidi, several other toasts were given, and lif r Robertson 
lefb the room about half-past eleven. A few choice spirits, bow- 
ever, rallied round Captain Broadhead of the 7 th Hussars, who 
was called to the chi^, and the festivity was prolonged till an 
early hour on Saturday nmming. 

The band of the Theatre occupied the gallery, and that of the 
7th Hussars the end of the room, opposite the chair, whose per- 
formances were greatiy admired. It is but justice to Mr Qibb to 
state, that the dinner was very handsome (though slowly served 
in) and the wines good. The attention of the stewards was exem- 
plary. Mr Murray and Mr Yandenhoff, with great good taste, 
attended on Sir W^ter Scott's right and left, and we know that 
he has expressed himself much gratified by their anxkms poUte- 
Qess and sedulity. 



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GHRONICLES 



THE CANONGATE. 



CHAPTER I. 
Mv C(ts0tal €i:oftangts'0 SUtamt of jgimselt 

Sic itur ad astra. 

^ This is Uie path to heaven.^' Such is the ancient motto 
attached to tlie armorial t)earings of the Canongate, and which is 
inscribed^ with gieater or less propriety, upon all the publie 
buildings, from the church to the pillory, in tlie ancient quarter 
of Edinburgh, which bears, or rather once bore, the same relation 
to the Good Town that Westminster does to London, being still 
possessed of the palace of the sovereign, as it formerly was digni- 
fied by the residence of the principal nobility and gentry. I may, 
therefore, with some propriety put the same motto at the head of 
the literary undertaking by which I hope to illustrate the hitherto 
undistinguished name of Chrystal Cronangry. 

The public may desire to know something of an author who 
pitches at such height his ambitious expectations. The gentle 
reader, therefore — for I am nmch of Captdn BobadlTs humour, 
and could to no other extend myself so far — the gentle reader, 
then, will be pleased to understand, that I am a Scottish gentle- 
man of the old school, with a fortune, temper, and person, rather 
the worse for wear. I have known the world for these forty 
years, having written myself man nearly since that period — and 
I do not think it is much mended. But this is an opinion which 
I Jseep to myself when I am among younger folk, for I recollect, 
in my youth, quizzing the Sexagenarians who carried back their 
ideas of a perfect state of society to the days of laced coats and 
triple ruffles, and some of them to the blood and blows of the 



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31S CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATB. 

Forty-five : therefore I am caatious in exercising the light of 
censorship, which is supposed to be acquired by men arrived aty 
or approadiing, the mysterious period of life, when the numbers 
of seven and nine multiplied into each other, form what sagen 
have termed the Grand Climacteric. 

Of the earlier part of my life it is only necessary to say, that I 
swept the boards of the Parliament-House with the skirts of mv 
gown for the usual number of years during which young Lairds 
were in my time expected to keep term — got no fees — laughed, 
and made others laugh — drank ckret at Bayle's, Fortune's, and 
Walker's, — and eat oysters in the Covenant Close. 

Becoming my own master, I flung my gown at the bar-keeper, 
and commenced gay man on my own account. In Edinburgh, I 
ran into all the expensive society which the place tiien afforded. 
When I went to my house in the shire of Lanark, I emulated to 
the utmost the expenses of men of large fortune, and had my 
hunters, my first-rate pointers, my gamecocks, and feeders. I 
can more easily forgive myself for these follies, than for others of 
a still more blameable kind, so indifferently cloaked over, that 
my poor mother thought herself obliged to leave my habitation, 
and betake herself to a small inconvenient jointure-house, which 
she occupied till her death. I think, however, I was not exclu- 
sively to blanie in this separation, and I believe my mother after- 
wards condemned herself for being too hasty. Thank Grod, the 
adversity which destroyed the means of continuing my disapation, 
restored me to the affections of my surviving parent. 

My course of Hfe could not last I ran too fast to run long ; 
and when I would have checked my career, I was perhaps too 
near, the brink of the precipice. Some mishaps I prepared by 
my own folly, others came upon me unawares. I put my estate 
out to nurse to a fat man of business, who smothered the babe be 
should have brought back to me in health and strength,. and, in 
dispute with this honest gentleman, I found, like a skilful general, 
that my position would be most judiciously assumed by taking it 
up near the Abbeyof Holyrooa.* It was then I first became 
acquainted with the quarter, which my little work will, I hope, 
render immortal, and grew familiar with those magnificent wilds, 
through which the Kings of Scotland once chased the dark-brown 
deer, but which were chiefly recommended to roe in those days, 
by their being inaccessible to those metaphysical persons, whom 
the law of the neighbouring country terms John Doe and Richard 
Roe. In short, ue precincts of die palace are now best known, 
as being a place of refuge at any time from all pursuit for civil 
debt. 

Due was the strife betwixt my quondam doer and myself ; 
during which my motions were circumscribed, like those of some 
Qonjured demon, within a circle, which, ^beginning at the 

« See Note a Holyrood, 



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INTBODUCTORT. 319 

Dorth^rn gate of the King's Park, thence running northways, is 
bounded on the left by the King's garden wall, and the gutter, 
or kennel, in a line wherewith it crosses the High Street to the 
Water^te, and passing through the sewer, is bounded by the 
walls of the Tennis-court and Physic-garden, &c. It then follows 
the wall of the churchyard, joins the northwest wall of St Ann's 
Yards, and going east to the clack mill-house, turns southward 
to the turnstile in the King's Park wall, and includes the whole 

' King's Park within the Sanctuary." 

These limits, which I abridge from the accurate Maitland,once 
marked the Girth, or Ayslum, belonging^ to the Abbey of Holy- 
rood, and which, being still an appendage to the royal paJaoe, mui 
retained the priyilege of an asylum for civil debt. One would 
think the space sufficiently extensive for a man to stretch his 
limbs in, as, besides a reasonable proportion of level ground, 
(considering that the scene lies in Scotland,) it includes within 
its precincts the mountain of Arthur's Seat, and the rocks and 
pasture bmd called Salisbury Crags. But yet it is inexpressible 
now, after a certain time had elapsed, I used to long for Sunday, 
which permitted me to extend my walk without limitation. 
During the other six days of the week I felt a sickness of heart, 
which, but for the speedy approach of the hebdomadal day of 
liberty, 1 could hardly have endured. I experienced the impa- 
tience of a mastiff, who tugs m vain to extend the limits which 
his chain permits. 

Day after day I walked by the side of the kennel which 
divides tlie Sanctuary from the unprivileged part of the Canon- 
gate ; and though the month was July, and the scene the old 
town of Eklinburgh, I preferred it to the fresh air and verdant 
turf which I might have enjoyed in the King's Park, or to the 

* cool and solemn gloom of the portico- which surrounds the pahkce. 
To an indifferent person either side of the gutter would have 
seemed much the same — the houses equally mean, the children 
as ragged and dirty, the carmen as brutal, the whole forming the 
same picture of low life in a deserted and impoverished quarter 
of a large city. But to me, the gutter, or kennel, was what the 
brook Kedron was to Shimei ; death was denounced aeainst him 
should he cross it, doubtless becau^ it was known to his wisdom 
who pronounced the doom, that from the time' the crossing the 
stream was debarred, the devoted man's desu« to transgress the 
precept would become irresistible, and he would be sure to draw 
down on his head the penalty which he had already justly incur- 
red by cursing the anointed of Grod. For mv part, all £lysium 
seemed opening on the other side of the kennel, and I envied the 
httle blackguards, who, stopping the current with their little dam- 
dikes of mud, had a right to stand on either side of the nasty 
puddle which best pleamd them. I was so childish as even to 
make an occasional excursion across, were it only for a few yards, 
and felt the triumph of a schoolboy, who, trespassing in au 

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920 CHRONICLES Of THE CiLNONGATE. 

orchard, harries baek agun with a fluttering eensatfoe «f joy and 
terror, betwixt the pleasure of having executed his purpose, and 
the fear of bdng taken or discovered. 

I have sonietiines asked myself, what I should hare done in 
case of actual imprisonment, since I could not bear without 
impatience a restriction which is comparatively a mere trifle ; 
but I really eould never answer the question to my own aatisjEao- 
ftion. I have all my life hated those treacherous expedients called 
mezzo-termini, and it is possible with this disposition I might hare 
oidured more patiently an absolute privation of liberty, than the 
more modified restrictions to which my residence, in the Sanc- 
tuary at this period subjected me. If, however, the feelings I 
then experienced were to increase in intensity according to the 
difference between a jail and my actual condition, I must ha^re 
hanged myself^ or pined to death ; there could have been no other 
alternative. 

Amongst many companions who forgot and neglected me of 
course, when my difficulties seemed to he inextricable, I had one 
. true friend ; and that friend was a barrister, who knew the laws 
. of his country well, and, tracing them up to the spirit of equHj 
and justice in which they originate, had repeatedly prevented, by 
his benevolent and manly exertions, the triumphs of selfish cun- 
ning over simplicity and folly. He undertook my cause, with the 
assMtance of a solidtor of a character similar to his own. My 
quondam doer had ensconced himself chin-deep among legal 
trenches, homworks, and covered ways ; but my two protectors 
ahelled him out of his defences, and I was at length a free man^ 
at liberty to go or stay wheresoever my mind listed. 

I left my lodgings as hastily as if it had been a pest-house ; I 
did not even stop to receive some change that was due to me on 
. settiing with my landlady, and I saw 3ie poor woman stand at 
her door looking after my precipitate flight, and shaking her head 
as she wrapped the silver whKsh she was counting for me in a 
separate piece of paper, apart from the store in her own mole- 
skin purse. An honest Highlandwoman was Janet MacEvoy, 
and deserved a greater remuneration, had I possessed the power 
of bestowing it. But my eagerness of delight was too extreme 
to pause for explanation with Janet On I pushed through die 
groups oi children, of whose sports I had l^en so often a busy 
lounging spectator. I sprung over the gutter as if it had been 
the fatal Styx, and I a ghost, which, eluding Pluto's authority, 
was making its escape from Limbo lake. My friend had diffi- 
culty to restrain me from running like a madman up the street ; 
and in s|»ite of his kindness and hospitality, whidi soothed me for 
a day or two, I was not qu^te happy until I found myself aboard 
of a Leith smack, and, standing down the Firth with a fair wind, 
niight snap my fingers at the retreating outiine of Ai^tur's Seoity 
to the vicinity of which I had been so long confined. 

It is not my purpose to trace my future progress thnoogh li£k 



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INTHOMJCTORT. 321 

I had oxtricated inyBelf, op rather had been freed by my fiends, 
from the heamblee and thickets of the hiw, but, as befell the 
sheep in the fabte^ a great part of my fieeoe was left behind me. 
Somethmg remained, however ; I was in the 8eas<m for exertion^ 
^d, as my good mother used to say, there was always life for 
liring folk. Stem n occ B Bity gare my manhood that prudence 
which my yoiiith waft a stranger to. I faced danger, I endured 
fatigue,. I sought foreigs climates^ and proved that I bdonged to 
the nation which is proverbially patient of labour and prodigal of 
Me, Independence,, like liberty to Virgil's shepherd, came late, 
but came at last, with no great affluence in its train, but bringing 
enoaf^ to support a decent appearance for the rest of my life, 
and to induce cousins to be civil, and gossips to say, '^ I wonder 
who old Croft will make Hb heir! he must have picked up 
something, and I should not be surprised if it prove more than 
folk think of.'* 

My first impulse when I returned home was to rush to the 
house of my benefacUnr, the only man who had in my distress 
interested himself in my behalf. He was a snuff-taker, and it 
had been the pride of my heart to save the ipsa corpora of the 
first score of guineas I could hoard, and to have them converted 
into as tastefol a snuff-box as Rundell and Bridge could devise. 
This I had thrust for security into the breast of my waistcoaty 
while, impatient to transfer it to the person for whom it was 
destined, I hastened to his house in Brown's Square. When the 
front of the house became visible, a feeling of alarm checked mew 
i had been long absent from Scotiand, my friend was some years 
older than I ; he might have been called to the congregatiott of 
ikao just. I paused, and gazed on the house, as if I had hoped to 
form some conjecture fi^m the outward appearance concerning 
the state of the family within. I know not how it was, but the 
lower windows being all closed and no one stirring, my sinister 
forebodings were rather strengthened. I regretted now tiuit I 
had not made inquiry before I left the inn where I alightei 
from the mail-coach. But it was too late ^ so I hurried on, 
eager to know the best or the worst which J could learn. 

The 4>ras8-plate bearing my friend's name and designation was 
still on the door, and when it was opened, the old domestic 
appeared a good deal older, I thought, than he ou^t naturally to 
have looked, considering die period of my abs^ce. " Is Mr 
Sommerville at home 1" said I, pressing forward. 

" Yes, ar," said John, placing himself in oppositi<m to my 
entrance, " he is at home, \mi " 

«But he is not in," said I. **T remember your phrase of 
oldy John; Come, I will step into his room, and leave a line for 
him." ^ 

John was obviously embarrassed by my familiarity. I was 
some one, he saw, whom he ought to recollect, at the same time 
it was evident he remembered nothing about me. 

VOL. XIX. X 



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32*2 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. 

** Ay, BU , my master is in, «nd in his own room^ but ** 

I would not hear him out, but passed before him, towards the 
well-known apartment. A young lady came out of tlie room m 
little disturbed, as it seemed, and said, ** John, what is Hie 
matter V* 

** A gentleman. Miss Nelly, that insists on seeing my master.** 

<<A very old and deeply indebted friend," said I, ^tbat 
ventures to press myself on my much-respected beoefitctor cm 
my return from abroad." 

^ Alas, sir," replied she, ^ my unde would be happy to see 
you, but " 

At this moment, something was heard within the apartment 
like the falling of a plate, or glass, and inunediately after my 
friend's voice called angrily and eagerly for his niece. I^e 
entered the room hastily, and so did I. But it was to see a 
spectacle, compared with which that of my benefactor stretched 
on his bier would have been a happy one. 

The easy-chair fiUed with cushions, the extended limbs swathed 
in flannel, the wide wrapping-gown and night-6ap, shewed illness ; 
but the dimmed eye, once so replete with living lire, the blabber 
lip, whose dilation and compression used to give such character 
to his animated countenance, — the stammering t ugue, tliatonoe 
poured forth such floods of masculine eloquence, and had often 
swayed the opinion of the sages whom he addressed, — all these 
sad symptoms evinced that my friend was in the melancholy con- 
dition of those, in whom the principle of animal life has m^tnrtu- 
nately survived that of mental intelligence. He gazed a moment 
at me, but then seemed insensible of my presence, ana went on 
— he, once the most courteous and well-bi«d ! — to babble unin- 
telligible but violent reproaches against his niece and servant, 
because he himself had dropped a teacup in attempting to plaoe 
it on a table at his elbow. His eyes caught a momentary fire 
from his irritation ; but he struggled in vain for words to express 
himself adequately, as looking from his servant to his niece, an<| 
then to the table, he laboured to explain that they had placed it 
(though it touched his chair) at too great a distance from him. 

The young person, who had naturally a reagned Madonna-hke 
expression of countenance, listened to his impatient diiding with 
the most humble submission, checked the servant, whose less 
delicate feelings would have entered on his justification, and gra- 
dually, by the sweet and soft tone of her voice, soothed to rest the 
spirit of causeless irritation. 

She then cast a look towards me, which expressed, ^ You see 
all that remains of him whom you call friend." It seemed also 
to say, ^< Your longer presence here can only be distressing to 
us all." 

'* Forgive me, young lady," I said, as well as tears would per- 
mit ; '' I am a p-srson deeply obliged to your uncle. My name is 
Crofiangry," 



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INTRODUCTORY. 323 

** Lord ! and that I shonld not hae minded ye, Maister Croft- 
angry," said the servant *< Ay, I mind my master had muckle 
lash about your job. I hae heard him order in fresh candles as 
midnight chappit, and till *t again. Indeed, ye had aye his gude 
word, Mr Croftangry, for a* that folks said about you.*' 

** Hold your tongue, John,'* said the lady, somewhat angrily ; 
and then continued, addressing herself to me, ^ I am sure, tor, 
you must be sorry to see my uncle in this state. I know you are 
his Iriend. I have heard him mention your name, and wonder 
he never heard from you.** A new cut this, and it went to my 
heart But she continued, ^ I really do not know if it is right 
that any should — If my unde shoulfl know you, which I scarce 
think possible, he would be much aiSected, and the doctor says 

that any agitation But here comes Dr to give his own 

opinion." 

Dr entered. I had left him a middle-aged man ; he was 

now an elderly one ; but still the same benevolent Samaritan, who 
went about doing good, and thought the blessings of the poor as 
good a recompense of his professional skill as the gold of the rich. 

He looked at me with surprise, but the young lady said a word 
of introduction, and I, who was known to the doctor formerly, 
hastened to complete it He recollected me perfectly, and inti- 
mated that he was well acquainted with the reasons I had for 
being deeply interested in the fate of his patient He gave me a 
very meliuicholy account of my poor friend, drawing me for that 
purpose a little apart from the lady. ** The light of life,** he said, 
" was trembling in the socket ; he scarcely expected it would ever 
leap up even into a momentaiy flash, but more was impossible.** 
He then stepped towards his patient, and put some questions, to 
which the poor invalid, though he seemed to recognize the friendly 
and familiar voice, answer^ only in a faltering and. uncertain 
manner. 

The young lady, in her turn, had drawn back when the doctor 
i^proached his patient ^ You see how it is with him,*' said the 
doctor, addressing me ; '< I have heard our poor friend, in one 
of the most eloquent of his pleadings, give a description of this 
very disease, which he compared to the tortures inflicted by 
Mezentius, when he chained the dead to the livine. The soul, he 
said, is imprisoned in its dungeon of flesh, and though retaining 
its natural and inalienable' properties, can no more exert them 
than the captive enclosed within a prison-house can act as a free 
agent Alas I to see him, who could so well describe what this 
malady was in others, a prey himself to its infirmities ! I shall 
never forget the solemn tone of expression with which he summed 
up the incapacities of the paralytic, — the deafened ear, the 
dimmed eye, the crippled limbs, — in the noble words of Juvenal — 

'onm! 
Membromm dainno mtOor, dementia, "us nee 
Nomina serToram, neo Taltum agnoMit amiei.* ** 



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324 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. 

As the physidan repeated these lines, a flash of intelligence 
seemed to revive in the invalid's eye — simk again — again stnig> 
gled, and he spoke more intelligibly than before, and in the tone of 
one eager to say something which he felt would escape him imleas 
said instantly. ^ A question of death-bed, a question oi death- 
bed, doctcHT — a reduction e» eapite lecti — Withering against 
WiHbus — about the fHorbus iontteus. I pleaded the cause for 
the pursuer — T, and — ^.and — Why, I shall forget my own name 
— I, and — he tiiat was the wittiest and the bei^humonred man 
living " 

The description enabled the doctor to fill up the blank, asd the 
patient joyfully repeated the name suggested. ** Ay, ay," he said, 

** just he — Harry — poor Harry .** The K^t in hb eye died 

away, and he sunk back in his easy-chair. 

" You have now seen more of our poor friend, Mr Croffcangry,** 
said the physician, ^ than I dared venture to promise yon ; and 
now I must take my professional authority on me, and ask yon to 
retire. Miss Sommerville will, I am sure, let yon know if a 
moment should by any chance occur when her uncle can seeyon.** 

What could I do ! I gave my card to the young hidy, and, 
taking my offering from my bosom — ** If my poor friend," I 
said, with accents as broken ahnost as his own, ^ should ask where 
this came from, name me ; and say from the most obliged and 
most grateful man alive. Say, the gold of which it is composed 
was saved by grains at a time, and was hoarded with as much 
avarice as ever was a miser's : — to bring it here I have come a 
thousand miles, and now, alas, I find him thus !" 

I laid the box on the table, and was retiring with a Kngerine 
step. The eye of the invalid was caught by it, as that of a child 
by a glittering toy, and with infantine impatience he fidtered out 
inquiries if his niece. With gentle mildness she repeated again 
and again who I was, and why I came, &c. I was about to torn, 
and hasten from a scene so painful, when the physician laid his 
hand on my sleeve — " Stop," he said, " there is a change." 

There was indeed, and a marked one. A faint glow mread 
over his pallid features — they seemed to gain the look of mtd- 
ligence which belongs to vitality — his eye once more kindled — 
his lip coloured — and drawing himself up out of the listless poe- 
ture he had hitherto maintained, he rose without assistance. The 
doctor and the servant ran to give him their support. He waved 
them aside, and they were contented to place themselves in such 
a position behind as might ensure against aecident, should his 
newly acquired strength decay as suddenly as it had revived. 

" My dear Croftangry," he said, in the tone of kindness of 
other days, ** I am gliwi to see you returned — You find me but 

poorly — but my little niece here and Dr are very kind — 

God bless you, my dear friend ! we shall not meet again till we 
meet in a better world." 

I pressed his extended hand to my lips — I pressed it to my 



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INTRODUCTORT. 325 

l)Osom — T would fain have flung myself on my knees ; but the 
doctor, leikving the patient to the young lady and the servant, who 
wheeled forward his chair, and were replacing him in it, hurried 
me out of the room. " My dear sir," he said, ** you ought to be 
satisfied ; you have seen our poor invalid more like his former 
■elf than he has been for months, or than he may be perhaps 
again until all is over. The whole Faculty could not have assured 
audi an interval — I must see whether any thing can be derived 
from it to improve the general health — Pray, begone.'* The 
last argument hurried me from die spot, agitated by a crowd of 
feelings, all of them painful. 

When I had overcome the shock of this great disappointment, 
I renewed gisadually my acquaintance with one or two old com- 
panions, who, though of infinitely less interest to my feelings than 
my unfortonate friend, served to relieve the pressure of actual 
solitude, and who were not perhaps the less open to my advances, 
that I was a bachelor somewhat stricken in years, newly arrived 
from foreign parts, and certainly independent, if not wealthy. 

I was considered as a tolerable subject of speculation by some, 
and I conld not be burdensome to any ; I was therefore, accord- 
ing to the ordinary rule of Edinburgh hospitality, a welcome guest 
in several respectable families ; but I found no one who could 
replace the loss I had sustained in my best friend and benefactor. 
I wanted something more than mere companionship could give 
me, and where was I to look for it ! — among the scattered , 
remnants of those that had been my gay friends of yore I — alas t 

Many a lad I loved was dead. 
And many a lass grovm old. 

Besides, all community of ties between us had ceased to exist, 
and soch of former friends as were still in the world, held their 
life in a di£ferent tenor from what I did. 

Some had become misers, and were as eager in saving sixpence 
as ever they had been in spending a guinea. Some had turned 
agriculturists — their talk was of oxen, and they were only fit 
eompanions for graziers. Some stuck to cards, and though no 
longer deep gamblers^ rather played small game than sat out. 
This I particularly despised. The strong impulse of gaming, 
alaa ! I had felt in my time — it is as intense as it is criminal ; 
but it produces excitation and interest, and I can conceive how 
it should become a passion with strong and powerful minds. But 
lo dribble away life in exchanging bits of painted ptoteboard 
round a green teble, for the piddling concern of a few shillings, 
can only be excused in folly or superannuation. It is like riding 
on a rocking-horse, where your utmost exertion never carries you 
a foot forward ; it is a kind of inAital tread-mill, where yon are 
perpetually climbing, but can never rise an inch. From these 
hints, my readers will perceive 1 am incapacitated for one of the 
pleasures of old age, which, though not mentioned by Cicero, is 



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3«f> CHBONICLES OF THE CANONOATE. 

not the leftst freqaent resoaroe in the present day, ^tke dab-mom 
and the snog hand at whist. 

To return to my old oompaniona: Some frequented pablie 
assemblies, like tile ghost of Beau Nash, or any other beau of half 
a century back, thrust aside by tittering youth, and [Mtied by those 
of their own age. In fine, some went into deTotk>n, as the Fren^ 
term it, and others, I fear, went to the deril ; a few feimd re- 
Houroes in science and letters ; one or two turned {^loeophers in 
a small way, peeped into microscopes, and became fimuliar with 
tlte fashionable experiments of the day. Some took to reading, 
and I was one of tnem. 

Some grains of repulsion towards the society aroond me — some 
painful recollections of early faults and folKes — some toodi of 
displeasure with living mankind, inclined me rather to a stody^ 
of antiquities, and particularly tiiose of my own eoontry. Th^ 
reader, if I can prevail on myself to continue the present work, 
will probably be able to judge, in the course of it, whether I have 
made any usieful progress in the study of the olden times. 

I owed this turn of study, in part, to the conversation of my 
kind man of business, Mr Fairscribe, whom I mentwned as hav- 
ing seconded the efforts of my invaluable friend, in bringing the 
cause on which my liberty and the remnant of my prof^rty de- 
pended, to a favourable decision. He had given me a most kind 
reception on my return. He was too much engaged in his pio- 
> fession for me to intrude on him often, and perhaps his raind was 
too much trammelled with its details to permit his being willingly 
withdrawn from them. In short, he was not a person of my poor 
friend Sonunerville's expanded spirit, and rather a lawyer of the 
ordinary class of formahsts, but a most able and excdlent man. 
When my estate was sold, he retained some of the older title- 
deeds, arguing, from his own feelings, that they would be of more 
consequence to the heir of the old family than to the new pur- 
chaser. And when I returned to Edinburgh, and found him still 
in the exercise of the profession to which he was an honour, he 
sent to my lodgings the old family-bible, which lay always on my 
father's table, two or three other mouldy volumes, and a couple of 
sheep-skin bags, fall of parclunent and ^xpen whose appearance 
was by no means inviting. 

The next time I shared Mr Fairseribe's hospitable dinner, I 
failed not to return him due thanks for his kindness, which ac- 
knowledgment, indeed, I proportioned rather to the idea which T 
knew he entertained of the value of such thinip, than to the interest 
with which I myself regarded them. But the conversatiou tunn- 
ing on my fafnily, who were oki proprietors in the Upper Ward 
of Clydesdale, gradually excited some interest in my miad ; and 
when I retired to my solitary parlour, the first thing I did was ta 
look for a pedigree, or a sort of history of the ftimily, or House el 
Croftangry, once of that Ilk, Utterly of Glentanner. The du- 
eoveries which I made shall enrich the next chapter* 



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INTB0DUC7T0RT. 327 

CHAPTER II. 
In lD|tc9 fiAt Ctoftanors ronttnites %i» Sttatft 

" What '8 propertjr. dear Swill ? I sw It alter 
From yoa to me, from me to Peter Walter.** 

Pops. 

** CBOFTAifORT — Groftandrew — Groftanridge — Crofandgrey — 
for sa mony wise hath the name been spellit — b weel known to 
be ane house of grit antiquity ; and it is said, that King Milco- 
lumb, or M^lcolin, being the first of our Scottish princes quha 
remoTit across the Firai of Forth, did reside and occupy ane 
palace at Edinburgh, and had there ane ralziant man, who did 
him roan-service, by keeping the croft, or corn-land, which was 
tilled for the oonvenience of the king^s household, and was thence 
callit Croft-an-ri, that is to say, the Kine his croft ; quhilk place, 
thou^ now ooverit with biggings, is to this day called Crofluigry, 
and lyeth near to the royal palace. And whereas that some 
of those who bear this anld and honourable name may take 
scorn that it ariseth from the tilling of the ground, quhilk men 
account a slavish occupation, yet we ought to honour the plough 
and q)ade, seeing we all derive our being from our fitther Adam* 
whose lot it became to cultivate the earai, in respect of his fall 
and transgression. 

^ Also we have witness as weel in holy writt as in profane 
history, of the honour in quhilk husbandrie was held of old, and 
how prophets have been taken from the plough, and great cap- 
tains raised up to defend their ain countries, sic as Cincinnatus, 
and the like, who fought not the common euemy with the less 
valiancy that their arms had been exercised in bakling the stilts 
of the plough, and their bellicose skill in driving of yands and 
owsen. 

** Likewise there are sindry honourable families, quhilk are now 
of our native Scottish nobihty, and have dombe higher up tlie 
brae of preferment than what this house of Croftangry hath done, 

Suhilk shame not to carry in their warlike shield and insignia of 
ignity, the tools and implements the quhilk their first forefiitbers 
exercised in labouring the croft-rig, or, as the poet Virgilius eali- 
eth it eloquently, in subduing the soil. And no doubt tms ancient 
bouse of Croftangry, while it continued to be called of that ilk, 
produced many worshipful and famous patriots, of quhom I now 
nnstermit the names ; it being my purpose, if God shall spare me 
me for sic an pious officiupa, or duty, to resume the first part of 
jny narrative touching the house of Croftangry, when I can ^et 
down at length the evidents, and historical witness auent the facta 
which I shall allege, seeing that words, when they ai-e unsupported 



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328 CHRONICLaS OF THE CAN0N6ATE. 

hj proofs, are like seed sown on the naked rocks, or like an honse 
bi|mt on the flitting and faithless sands.'* 

Here I stopped to draw brealifa ; for the style of my grandsire, 
the inditer of this goodly matter, was rather lengthy, as our 
American friends say. Indeed, I reserre the rest of the piece 
until J can obtain admission to the Bannatyne Club,* when I 
propose to throw off an edition, limited according to the rules of 
that erudite Society, with a fac-simile of the manuscript, emblasonry 
' of the family arms, surrounded by their quartering, and a hand- 
some disclamation of family pride, with H(bo nos novimus et»e 
nikUf or Vi» ea notira DOM. 

In the raeantime, to speak truth, I cannot but eu^iect, that 
though my worthy ancestor puffed ▼igorouaiy to sw^ up the 
dignity of his family, we hav« never, in fact, risen above the rank 
of middling proprietors. The estate of Crlentanner came to us by 
the intermarriage of my ancestor with Tib Sommeril, termed by 
tile Southrons Sommerrflle,i' a daughter of that noble house, but 
I fear oa what my great-graadsire calls " the wrong side of the 
blanket." Her husband, Gilbert, was killed flghtiug, as the In- 
mtititio po$t motrtem has it, ^ Ma6 wxiUo regit, afud prcdiwm puOa 
BranxUm, lib FloddenfieldJ' 

We had our share m other national mfefortones — were for* 
feited, like Sir John Colville of the Dale, for following our betters 
to the field of Liaagside ; and, in the contentious times of the last 
Stewarts, we were severely fined for harbounng and resetting in- 
Ceroommuned ministers ; and narrowly escaped giving a martyr 
to the Calendar of the Covenant, in the person ct the father of 
oar family historian. He ^ took the sheaf foom the mare,*' bow- 
ever, as the MS. expresses it, and agreed to accept of the terms 
of pardcm offered by government, and sign the b<md, in evidenoe 
he would give no fiEtrther ground of offence. My grandsire glosses 
over his, Other's backsliding as smoothly as he can, and coaaforts 
himself with ascribing his want of resolution to his unwiUingnesB 
to wreck the ancient name and family, and to permit his lands iand 
lineage to fall under a doom of forfeiture. 

^ And indeed," said the venerable compiler, ^as, praised be 
God, we seldom meet in Scotland with these belly-gods and 
voluptuaries, whilk are unnatural enough to devour their patri- 
mony bequeathed to them by their forbears in 'chambering and 
wantonness, so that they come, with the prodigal son, to the husks 
and the swine-trough ; and as I have the leas to dreid the ezis- 
-tenoe of such unnatural Neroes in mine own family to devour the 
substance of their own house like brute beasts out of mere f^xA- 
tonie and Epicurishnesse, so I need only warn mine desoen^Unts 
against over hastily meddling with the mutations in state and in 
religion, which have been near-hand to the bringing this poor 
house of Croftangry to perdition, as we have shewn more thas 

* See Note C. The Bannatjfw Club, 
< fSeaNoteD. The Sommervim. 



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INTRODUCTORY. 529 

once. And albeit I would not that my successors sat still alto- 
gether when called on by their duty to Kirk and King ; yet I 
would have them wait till stronger and wealthier men thui wem- 
selves were up, so tiiat either they may have the better chance of 
getting through tSne day ; or, failing of that, the conquering party 
having some fatter quarry to live upon, may, like gorged hawks, 
spare the smiUler game." 

There was something in this conclusion wfaieli at first reading 
piqued me extremely, and T was so unnatural as to curse the 
whole concern, as poor, bald, pitiful trash, in which a silly old 
man was saying a great deal about nothing at all. Nay, my first 
impression was to thrust it into t&e fire, the rather that it re- 
minded me, in no very flattering manner, of the loss of the flEunily 
property, to which the compiler of the history was so much at- 
tached, in the very manner which be most severely reprobated. 

' It even seemed to my aggrieved feelings, that his unprescient 
gaze on futurity, in which ne could not anticipate the folly of one 
of his descendimts, who should tlirow away the whole inheritance 
in a few years of idle expense and folly, was meant as a personal 
incivility to myself, Ibough written fifly or sixty years before I 
was bom. 

A little reflection made me ashamed of this feeling of impa- 
tience, and as I looked at the even, concise, yet tremulous hand 
in which the manuscript was written, I could not help thinking, 
according to an opinion I have heard seriously maintained, that 
something of a man*s character may be conjectured from his 
handwriting. That neat, but crowded and constrained small 
hand, argued a man of a good conscience, well-reeulated passions, 
and, to use his own phrase, au upright walk in fife ; but it also 
indicated narrowness of spirit, inveterate prejudice, and hinted at 
some degree of intolerance, which, though not natural to the dis- 
position, had arisen out of a limited eiucation. The passages 
from Scripture and the classics, rather profusely than happily 
introduced, and written in a half-text character to mark their im- 
portance, illustrated that peculiar sort of pedantry which always 
considered the argument as gained, if secured by a quotation. 
Then the flourished capital letters, which ornamented the com- 
mencement of ei^ paragraph, and the name of his family and of 
his ancestors, whenever these occurred in the page, do they not 
express forcibly the pride and sense of importance with which 
the author undertook and accomplished his task ! I persuaded 
myself, the whole was so complete a portrait of the man, that it 
would not have been a more undutiral act to have defaced his 
picture, or even to have disturbed his bones in his coffin, than to 
destroy his manuscript. I thought, for a moment, of presenting 
it to Mr Furscribe; but that confounded passage about the 
prodigEd and swine-trough — I settied at last it was as well to 
lock it up in my own bureau, with the intention to look at it no 

' more. 



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330 CHRONICLKS OF TH£ CANONOATB. 

But I do not know how it was, that the subject began to «it 
nearer my heart than I was aware of, and I found myself 
repeatedly engaged in reading descriptions of farms which were 
no longer mine, and boundaries which marked the property of 
others. A love of the ncOcUe §olum, if Swift be right in translat- 
ing these words, ^ family estate," began to awaken in my bosom ; 
the recollections of my own you^ adding little to it, saye what was 
connected with field-sports. A career of pleasure is unfarourable 
for acquiring a taste for natural beauty, and still more so for 
forming associations of a sentimental kind, connecting us with the 
inanimate objects around us. 

I had thought little about my estate, while I possessed and was 
wastmg it, unless as affording the rude materials out of which a 
certain inferior race of creatures, called tenants, were bound to 
produce (in a greater quantity than they actually did) a certain 
return called rent, which was destined to supply my expenses. 
This was my general view of the matter. Of particular places, I 
recollected that Garvaf-hill was a famous piece of rough upland 
pairture, for rearing ^oung colts, and toiching them to throw 
their feet, — that mnion-bum had the finest yellow trout in the 
country, — that Seggy-cleugh was unequalled for woodcocks, — 
that Bengibbert-moors affonled excellent moorfowl-shooting, and 
that the clear bubblinff fountain called the Harper's Well, was the 
best recipe in the world on a morning after a Hard-go with my 
neighbour fox-hunters. Still these ideas recalled, by degrees, 
pictures, of which I had since learned to appreciate the merit — 
scenes of silent loneliness, where extensive moors, undulating 
into wild hills, were only disturbed by the whistle of the plover, 
or the crow of the heath-cock; wild ravines creeping up into 
mountains, filled with natural wood, and which, when traced 
downwards along the path formed by shepherds and nutters, were 
found gradually to enlarge and deepen, as each formed a channel 
to its own brook, sometimes bordered by steep banks of earth, 
often with the more romantic boundary of naked rocks or diffs, 
crested with oak, mountain-ash, and hazel, — all gratifying the 
eye the more that the scenery was, from the bare nature of the 
country around, totally unexpected. 

I had recollections, too, of fair and fertile holms, or level 
plains, extending between the wooded banks and the bold stream 
of the Clyde, which, coloured like pure amber, or rather having 
the hue of the pebbles called Cairngorm, rushes over sheets of 
rock and beds of gravel, inspiring a species of awe from the few 
and faithless fords which it presents, and the frequency of fatal 
accidents, now diminished by the number of bridges. These 
alluvial holms were frequently bordered by triple and quadruple 
rows of lar^ trees, which gracefully marked tlieir boundary, and 
dipped theur Jong arms into the foaming stream of the river. 
Other places I remembered, which had been described by the old 
huntsman as the lodge of tremendous wild-cats, or the spot where 



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INTRODVCTORT. 331 

tr&ditioii stated the mighty stag to have been brought to bay, or 
where heroes, whose might was now as much forgotten, were said 
to have been slain by surprise, or in battle. 

It is not to be supposed that these finished landscapes became 
visible before the eyes of my imagination, as the scenery of the 
stage is disclosed by the rising of the curtain. I have said, that 
I had looked upon the country around me, during the hurried 
and ^ssipatedr period of my life, with the eyes indeed of my body, 
but without those of .my understanding. It was piece by piece, 
as a child {Hcks out its lesson, that I began to recollect the 
beauties of nature which had once surrounded me in the home of 
ray forefathers. A natural taste for them must have lurked at 
the bottom of my heart, which awakened when I was in foreisn 
countries, and becoming by degrees a favourite passion, graduaUv 
turned its eyes inwards, and ransacked the neglected stores which 
my memory had involuntarily recorded, and when excited, 
exerted herself to collect and to complete. 

I began now to regret more bitterly than ever the having 
fooled away my fSunily property, the care and improvement of 
which, I saw, might have afforded an agreeable employment for 
my leisure, which only went to brood on past misfortunes, and 
increase useless repining. << Had but a single farm been reserved, 
however small,'' said I, one day to Mr Fairscribe, " I should have 
had a place I could call my home, and something that I could 
eall buioness." 

^ It might have been managed,*' answered Faunsoribe ; ^ and 
f<Hr my part, I, inclined to keep the mansion-house, mains, and 

some of the old family acres together ; but both Mr and 

you were of opinion that the money woidd be more useful." 

^ True, true, my good friend," said I, ^ I was a fool then, and 
did not think I could incline to be Glentanner with L.200, or 
L.300 a-year, instead of Glentanner with as many thousands. I 
was then a haughty, pettish, ignorant, dissipated, broken-down 
Scottish laird ; and thinking my imaginary consequence altogether 
ruined, I cai«d not how soon, or how absolutely, I was rid of 
every thing that recalled it to my own memory, or that of others." 

^ And now it is like you have changed your mind !" said Fair- 
scribe. ** Well, fortune is apt to circumduce the term upon us ; 
but I think she may allow you to revise your condescendence." 

** How do you mean, my good friend I" 

** Nay," said Fairscribe, *^ there is ill luck in averring till one 
is sure of his facts. I will look back on a file of newspapers, and 
to-morrow you shall bear from me ; come, help yourself — I have 
seen you fill your glass higher." 

^ And shall see it again," said I, pouring out what remained of 
our bottle of daret ; <* the wine is capital, and so shall our toast 
be — To your fireside, my good friend. And now we shall go 
beg a Scots song without foreign gpuses, from my httle siren Mi^ 
Katie." 



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333 CHBONICLES OF THB GAlfONGATE. 

The next daj accordingly T received a parcel from Mr Fair- 
ecrifoe with a newspaper enclosed, among the advertisementB of 
which, one was marked with a cross as reqmring my attention. 
i read to my enrprise — 

'^ DESIRABLE ESTATE FOB SALE. 

^ By order of the Lords of Council and Session, will be exposed 
to sale in the New Sessions House of Eidinbui^h, on Wednesday, 
the 25th NoTember, 18 — , all and whole the lands and barony of 
Glentanner, now called Q»tle-Treddles, lying in the Middle Ward 
of Qydesdi^, and shire of Lraark, with the teinds, parsonage and 
vicarage, fislungs in the dyde, woods, mosses, moors, and pas- 
turages," &c. &c 

The advertisement went oB to set forth ike advantages of tiie 
soil, sitaation, natural beauties and capabilities of improvement, 
not forgetting its being a freehold estate, with the partkmlar poly- 
pus cap^ty of being sliced up into two, three, or, with a little 
assistance, rour freehold qualifications, and a hint that the county 
was likely to be eagerly contested between two great feuoiilies. 
The upset price at which '^ the said lands and barony and others" 
were to be exposed, was thirty years' porchase of liie proven 
rental, which was about a fourth more than the property had 
fetched at the last sale. This, which was mentioned, I su^xMse, 
to shew the improvable character of the land, would have given 
another some pam ; but let me speak truth of myself in good as in 
evil' — it pained not me. I was only angry that Fairsoribe, who 
knew something generally of the extent ot my fbnds, should have 
tantalized me by sending me information that my fiEumily property, 
was in the maritet, since be must have known that the price was 
fiir out of my reach. 

But « letter drc^pped from the parori on Hie floor, which 
attracted my eye, and explained the riddle. A client of Mr 
Fairscribe's, a moneyed man, thought of buying Glentanner, 
merely as an investment of money — it was even unlikely be 
would ever see it ; and so the price of the whole being some thou- 
sand pounds beyond what cash he had on hand, this aooommo- 
datinff Dives would gladly take a partner in the sale for any 
detaimed farm, and would'make no objection to its including the 
most desirable part of the estate in point of beauty, provided the 
price was made adequate. Mr Fairscribe would take care I was 
not imposed on in the matter, and said in his card, he bdieved, if 
I really wished to make such a purchase, T had better go out and 
look at the premises, advising me, at the same time, to keep a strict 
mcognito ; an advice somewhat superfluous, since I am naturally 
of a reserved disposition. 



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iBTBODncrroRT. 333 

CHAPTER III 

fiRv Ctoftamirttb iiitnr alta, Uti>i%ii% ^Untamm. 

Then sing of rtage-^oadiafly 
And fear no reproaches 

For riding in one ; 
Bat daily be jogging, 
Whilst, whistling and flogging. 
Whilst, whistling and flogging, 

The coachman ^ves on. 

FABomum. 

DiseniSBD in a gray sortout which had eeen serrioe, a white 
flastor on my head, and a stout Indian cane in my hand, the next 
week saw me on the top of a maU-ooach driving to the westward. 

I like mail-coaches, and I hate them. I like them for my con- 
Tenienee, but I detest them for setting the whole world a-gadding, 
instead of sitting quietly still minding their own buslneas, aiKl 
preserring the stamp of originality of character which nature or 
education may have impr^sed on them. Off they go, jingling 
against each other in the rattling yehide till they have no more 
vsjriety of stamp in them than so many smooth shillings — the 
same even in their Welsh wigs and great coats, each without 
more individuality, than belongs to a partner of the c(»npany, as 
the waiter calls them, of the North coadL 

Worthy Mr Piper, best of contractors who ever famished four 
finampal jades for public use, I bless you when I set out an a 
journey myself; the neat coaches under your contract render the 
interconrae, firom Johnie Groat's House to Ladykirk and Comhill 
Bridge, safe, pleasant, and cheap. But Mr Piper, you, who are 
a shrewd arithmetician, did it ever occur to you to (klculate how 
many fools' heads, which might have produced an idea or two 
ilk the year, if suffered to remain in quiet, get effectually addled 
by jddng to and fro in these flying chariots of yours ; how many 
decent countrymen become conceited bumpkins after a cattle- 
show dinner in the cafntal, which they could not have attended 
save for your means ; how many decent country parsons return 
critics and spouters, by way of importing the newest taste from 
Edinburgh ! And how wiU your conscience answer one day for 
carrying so many bonny lasses to barter modesty for conceit and 
levity at the metropolitan Vanity Fair ! 

Consider, too, the low rate to which you reduce human intellect. 
I do not believe your habitual customers have their ideas more 
enlarsed than one of your coach-horses. They knafot the road, 
like me English postilion, and they know nothing beside. They 
date, like the carrierB at Gadshill, from the death of John Ostler ;* 

« Sm tlM opning lotBS of the.first partof Sbakeipean'fe Henrp IV. 



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834 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONOATB. 

the saooeasion of guards forms a dynasty in their eyes ; ooachmea 
are their ministers of state, and an upset is to them a greater 
incident than a change of administration. Their only pomt of 
interest on the road is to save the time, and see whetiier the 
coach keeps the hour. This is surely a miserable degradation of 
human intellect. Take my advice, my good sir, and disuite- 
restedly contrive that once or twice a-qujtfter^ your most dexte- 
rous whip shall overtuni a coachful of the superfluous travdlera, 
in terrarem to those who, as Horace says, '* delight in the dust 
raised by your chariots." 

Your current and custonury mail-coach passenger, too, gets 
abominably selfish, schemes successfully for the best seat, the 
freshest egg, the right cut of the sirloin. The mode of travelling 
is death to all the courtesies and kindnesses of life, and goe^ a 
great way to demoralize the cha^racter, and cause it to retn^rade 
to barbarism. You allow us excellent dinners^ but only twenty 
minutes to eat them ; and what is the consequence ! Bashfnl 
beauty sits on the one side of us, timid childhood on the other ; 
respectable, yet somewhat feeble old age is placed on our front ; 
and all require those acts of politeness which ought to put every 
degree upon a level at the convivial board. But have we time — 
we the strong and active of the party — to perform the duties of 
the table to the more retured and bashful, to whom these little 
attentions are due ! The lady should be pressed to her chidcen — 
the old man helped to his favourite and tender slice— the child to 
his tart But not a fraction of a minute have we to bestow on any 
other person than ourselves ; and the prtU-f>rtU — tvt-t^ of tba 
guard^s discordant note, summons us to the coach, the weaker 
party having gone without their dinner, and the able-bodied and 
active threatened with indigestion, from having swallowed victuals 
like a Lei'stershire clown bolting bacon. 

On the memorable occasion I am speaking of I lost my break- 
fast, sheerlv from obeying the commands of a respectable-looking 
old lady, who once required me to ring the bell, and another time 
to help the tea kettle. I have some reason to think, she was 
literally an old Stagery who laughed in her sleeve at my complai- 
sance ; so that I have sworn in my secret soul revenge upon her 
sex, and all such errant damsels of whatever age and degree, 
whom I may encounter in ray travels. I mean all this wiuout 
the least ill-will to my friend the contractor, who, I think, 
has approached as near as any one is like to do towards accom- 
plishing the modest wish of the Amatus and Amata of the Peri 
mthousy 

Ye gods, winlhilate but tinM and space, 
And make two loven happy.. 

I intend to give Mr P. his full revenge when I come to discuss 
the more recent enormity of steamboats ; meanwhile, I shali only 
•ay of both these modes of conveyance, that 

There is no livhig with them or without t 



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INTRODUCTORY. 336 

1 am perhap* more critical on the mail-coach on this 

pardciilar occasion, that I did not meet all the respect from the 
worshipful company in his Majesty's carriage that 1 think I was 
entitled to. I most say it for myself, that I bear, in my own 
opinion at least, not a vulgar point about me. My face has seen 
service, but there is still a good set of teeth, an aquiline nose, and 
a quick gray eye, set a little too deep under the eyebrow ; and a 
cue of the land once called military, may serve to shew that my 
civil occupations have been sometimes mixed with those of war. 
Nevertheless, two idle young fellows in the vehicle, or rather on 
the top of it, were so much amused with the deliberation which I 
used in ascending to the same place of eminence, that I thought 
I should have been obliged to pull them up a little. And I was 
in no good-humour, at an unsuppressed laugh following my 
descent, when set down at the angle, where a cross road, striking 
off from the main one, led me towards Glentanner, from which I 
was still nearly five miles distant. 

It was an old-fashioned road, which, preferring ascents to 
sloughs, was led in a straight Une over height and hollow, through 
moor and dale. Every object around me, as I passed them in 
succession, reminded me of old days, and at the same time formed 
the strongest contrast with them possible. Unattended, on foot, 
with a small bundle in my hand, deemed scarce sufficient good 
company for the two shabby genteels with whom I had been 
lately perched on the top of a mail-coach, I did not seem to be 
the same person with the young prodigal who lived with the 
noblest and gayest in the land, and who, thirty years before, 
would, in the same country, have been on the back of a horse that 
had been victor for a plate, or smoking along in his traveUing 
chajse-and-four. My sentiments were not less changed than my 
condition. I could quite well remember, that my ruling sensation 
in the days of heady youth, was a mere schoolboy's eagerness to 
get fiirthest forward in the race in which I had engaged ; to drink 

as many bottles as ; to be thought as good a judge of a horse 

as ; to have the knowing cut of 's jacket. These were 

thy gods, O Israel ! 

Now I was a mere looker-on ; seldom an unmoved, and some- 
times an angry spectator, but still a spectator only, of the pursuits 
of mankind. I felt how little my opinion was valued by those 
engaged in the busy turmoil, yet I exercised it with the profusion 
of an old lawyer retired from bis profession, who thrusts himself 
into his neighbour's affairs, and gives advice where it is not 
wanted, merely under pretence of loving the crack of the whip. 

I came amid these reflections to the brow of a hill, from which 
I expected to see Glentanner ; a modest-looking yet comfortable 
house, its walls covered with the most productive fruit-trees in 
tliat part of the country, and screened from the most stormy 
quarters of the horizon by a deep and ancient wood, which over- 
hung the neighbouring hUl. The house was gone ; a great part 



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336 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. 

of the wood was felled; aod instead of the geiitieman*]ike manncoi, 
shrouded and embosonied among its old hereditary trees, stood 
Castle-Treddles, a huge himping four-square pile of freestone, as 
bare as my nail, except for a paltry edging of decayed and hnger* 
ing exotics, with an impovoished lawn stretched bef<H?e it, which, 
instead of boasting deep green tapestry, enamelled with daisies^ and 
with crowsfoot aii^ cowslips, shewed an extent of nakedness, raked, 
indeed, and levelled, b«t where the sown grasses had failed with 
drouglrt, and the earth, retaining its natural complexion^ seemed 
nearly as brown and bare as when it was newly dug up. 

The house was a large fabric, whidi pretended to its name of 
Castle only from the froBt windows being finislwd m aicnte Goliftic 
arehes, (being, by the way, the yery reverse of the castellated 
style,) and each angle griM^ with a turret about the size of a 
pepper box. In every other respect it resembled a large town- 
house, whi^, Mke a fat burgess, had taken a walk to the country 
on a holiday, and climbed to the top of an emmence to look around 
it. The bright red colour of the freest(»e, the size of the buiMiiig, 
the formality of its shape, and awkwardness of its position, har- 
monized as ill with the sweeping Clyde in front, and the bubbling 
brook which danced down on the right, as the faX civic form, with 
bushy wig, gold-headed cane, maroon-coloured coat, and mottled 
silk stockings, would have accorded with the wild and magmficent 
scenery of Corehouse Linn. 

I went up to the houses It was in that state of desertion which 
is perhaps the inost unpleasant to look on, for the place waa going 
to decay, without having been inhabited. Th^e were about the 
mansion, though deserted, none of the slow mouldering touches of 
time, which communicate to buildings, as to the human frame, a 
sort of reverence, while depriving them of beauty and of strength. 
The disocmcerted sdiemes of the Laird of Castie-Treddles, had 
resembled fruit that becomes decayed witiiout ever havingripened. 
Some windows broken, others patched, others blocked up with 
deals, gave a disconsolate air to all around, and seemed to aay, 
*' There Vanity had purposed to fix her seat, but was anticipated 
by Poverty." 

' To the inside, after many a vain summons, I was at length ad- 
mitted by an dd labourer. The house contained every contriv- 
ance for luxury and accommodation ; — the kitchens w^e a 
model, and there were hot eloeets on the office staircaee, that the 
dishes might not cool, as our Scottish phrase gees, between the 
kitchen and the haB. But instead of the gemal smell of good 
cheer, these temples oi Comus emitted the damp odour of sepul- 
chral vaults, and the large cabinets of cast-iron looked like tiie 
cages of some feudal Bastile. The eating-room and drawing- 
room, with an interior boudoir, were magnificent apartments, 
the ceilings fretted and adorned with stucco-work, which already 
was broken in many places, and looked in others damp and 
mouldering ; the wQHC>d panelmg was shrunk and warped, and 



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INTRODDCTOBY. 337 

eracked ; the doors, which had been hung for more than two years, 
were, nevertheless, already swing^g loose from their hinges. 
Desolation, in shor^ was where enjoyment had never been ; and 
the Vant of all the usual means to preserve, was £ast performing 
the work of decay. 

The story was a common one, and told in a few words. Mr 
Treddles, senior, who bought the estate, was a cautious money- 
making person ; his son, still embarked in commercial specula- 
tions, desired at the same time to enjoy his opulence and to in- 
crease it. He incurred great expenses, amongst which this edifice 
was to be numbered. To support this he speculated boldly, and 
unfortunately ; and thus the whole history is told, which may 
serve for more places than Glentanner. 

Strange and various feelings ran through my bosom, as I 
loitered in these deserted apartments, scarce hearing what my 
guide said to me about the size and destination of each room. 
The first sentiment, I am ashamed to say, was one of gratified 
spite. My patridlan pride was pleased, that the mechanic, who 
had not thought the house of the Croftangrys sufficientiy good 
for him, had now experienced a fall in his turn. My next thought 
was as mean, though not so malicious. " I have had the better 
of this fellow," thought I ; << if I lost the es^te, I at least spent 
the price ; and Mr Treddles has lost his among paltry commercial 
engagements." 

*< Wretch I" said the secret voice within, ** darest thou exult in 
thy shame t Recollect how thy youth and fortune were wasted 
in those years, and triumph not in the enjoyment of an existence 
which levelled thee with the beasts that perish. Bethink thee, how 
this poor man's vanity gave at least bread to the labourer, peasant, 
and citizen ; and his profuse expenditure, like water spilt on the 
ground, refreshed the lowly herbs and plants where it fell. But 
tiiou ! whom hast thou enriched, during thy career of extmva- 
gance, save those brokers of the devil, vintners, panders, gamblers, 
and horse-jockeys !" The anguish produced by this self -reproof 
was so strong, that I put my hand suddenly to my forehead, and 
was obliged to allege a sudden megrim to my attendant, in apo« 
logy for the action, and a slight groan with which it was accom- 
panied. 

I then made an effort to turn my thoughts into a more philo- 
sophical current, and muttered half aloud, as a charm to luU any 
moire painful thoughts to rest — 

Kvne ager Umbrtni sub nomine^ mmer O/HM 
DicttUi erit nuUi proprius ; sed cedit in tuum 
Nunc miki, nunc alit. QfJiocirca vivite/ortu^ 
ForUaque adversis opponite pectora rebus.* 

* Hoiucs, Bat. n. Lib. 2. The meaning will be best conveyed to the Enf- 
Ikh reader in Pope's imitation :— 

What '• proper^, dear Swift ? you tee it idtar 
nmn you to m«, from me to Peter Walter t 



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538 CHRONICLES OP THE CANONGATE. 

In mj anxietj to fix the phiIosopht«al preeepi in ray mind, I 
recited the last line alond, which, joined to my prerioos agita- 
tion, I afterwards found became the caose of a report, that a 
mad sehoohnaster had come ft^m Edinburgh, with the idea in 
his head of buying Castle-Treddles. 

As T saw my companion was desfarons of getting rid of me, I 
asked where I was to find the person in whose hands were left 
the map of the estate, and other particulars connected with the 
sale. The agent who had this in possession, I was told, lived at 

the town of ; which I was informed, and indeed knew well, 

was distant five miles and a bittock, which may pass in a coontry 
where they are less lavish of their land, for two or three more. 
Being somewhat afraid of the fatigue of walking so tear, I inquired 
if a horse, or any sort of a carriage was to be had, and was an- 
swered in the negative. 

^ But," said my cicerone, ^ you may halt a blink till next 
morning at the Treddles Arras, a very decent house, scarce a 
nrile off." • 

** A new house, I suppose %** replied I. 

*^ Na, it 's a new public, but it ^9 an auld home : it was aye the 
Leddy's jointure-house in the Croftangry-folk's tune; but Mr 
Treddles has fitted it up for Ihe convenience of tiie country. 
Poor man, he was a public*c^rited man, when he had the 
means." 

<* Dnntarkin a public-house !" I exdaimed. 

* Ay," said the fellow, surprised at my naming the place by- 
its former title, « ye 11 hae been in this country befcnw, I *m 
thinking!" 

" Long since," I replied — ** and there is good accommodation 
at the what-d' ye-call-'em arms, and a civil landlord !" This I 
sud by way of saying something, for the man stared very hard 
at me. ^ 

" V«ry decent accommodation. Te 'U no be for fashing wi' 
wine, I 'm thinking, and there 's walth o* porter, ale, and a drap 
gude whisky" — (in an under tone) — ^ Faimtosh, if you can get 
<9n the lee-side of the gudewife — for there is nae gudeman — 
They ca' her Christie Steele." 

I almost started at the sound. Christie Steele 1 Christie 
Steele was my mother's body servant, her very right hand, and, 
between ourselves, aoraethtng like a viceroy over her. I recol- 
lected her perfectly ; and though ^e had, in former times, been 
no favourite of mine, her name now sounded in my ear like that 

Or la a mcolgage prore « UwvOT's ■hM*; 
Or in a jointure nmUh firom the heir. 

Shades, that to Bkoon ooold retreat aflbrd. 

Become the portion of a booby lord ; 

And Helmsley, once proud BacMngham^ deU^t* 

BUdee to a ecrlTener and city knight. 

Let land* and houses hare what lords they wM^ 

&it as iM Sz'd, and owrown aualan stlB. 



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INTBODUCTORT. 339 

of a friend, and was the first word I had heard somewhat in 
unison with the associations around me. I sallied from Castle- 
l^reddles, determined to make the best of my way to Duntarkin, 
and my cicerone hung by me for a little way, giving loose to his 
love of talking ; an opportunity which, situated as he was, the 
seneschal of a deserted castle, was not likely to occur frequently. 

<< Some folk think,'' said my companion, ^ that Mr Treddles 
might as weel have put my wife as Christie Steele into the 
Tieddles-Arms, for Christie had been aye in service, and never 
in the puMie line, and so it 's like she is ganging back in the 
world, as I hear — now, my wife had keepit a victualling 
office." 

^ That would. have been an advantage, certainly," I re]^ed. 

'< But I am no sure that I wad ha' looten Eppie take it, if they 
had put it in her offer." 

^ That 's a different consideration." 

« Ony way, I wadna ha' Hked to have offended Mr Treddles ; 
he was a wee toustie when you rubbed him again' the hair — but 
a kind, weel-meanm^ man." 

I wanted to get nd of this species of chat, and finding myself 
near the entrance of a foo^th which made a short cut to Dun- 
tarkin, I put half-a-crown into my guide's hand, bade him gopd- 
evening, and plunged into the woods. 

^ Hout, sir — fie, dr -^ no from the like of you — stay, sir, ye 
wunna find the way that gate — Odd's mercy, he maun ken tifie 
gate as weel as I do mysell — weel^ I wad lUce to ken wha the 
chield is." 

Such were the last words of my guide's drowsy, uninteresting 
tone of voice ; and glad to be rid of him, I strode out stoutly, in 
despite of large stones, briers, and had ttept, which abounded in 
the road I IumI chosen. In the interim, I tried as mudi as I 
could, with verses from Horace and Prior, and all who have 
lauded the mixture of literary with rural life, to call back the 
visions of last night and this morning, imagining myself settlM in 
some detadied £rm of the estate of Glentanner, 

Which deling hills aroimd enclose — 
Where many a birch and brown oak grows ; 

when I should have a cottage with a small library, a small 
cellar, a spare bed for a friend, and live more happy and more 
honoui«d than when I had the whole barony. But the sight of 
Castle-Treddles had disturbed all my own castles in the air. The 
realities of the matter, like a stone plashed into a limpid foua 
tain', had destroyed the reflection of the objects around, which, 
till this act of violence, lay slumbering; on the crystal surface, 
and I tried in vain to re-establish the picture which had been so 
rudely broken. Well, then, I would try it another way; I 
would try to get Christie Steele out of her public, since she was 
uot thriving in it, and she who had been my mother's govemante 



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340 CHRONICLEB OF THB CANONGATB. 

■honld be mine. I knew all her fkulta^ and I told her historf 
over to myseH. 

She was a jrand-daughter, I believe, at least some relatiTe, of 
the famous Covenanter of tiie name, whom Dean Swift's fri^dy 
Ca{>tain Creichton, shot on his own staircase in the times of the. 
persecations,* and had perhaps derived firom her native stock 
nrach both of its good and evil properties. No one could saj of 
her that she was the life and spirit of the family, though, in my 
mother's time, she directed all family affairs; her look was 
austere and gloomy, and when she was not displeased with you^ 
you could only find it out by her silence. If there was cause for 
complaint, re^ or imaginary, Christie was loud enough. She 
loved my mother with the devoted attachment of a younger 
sister, but she was as jealous of her favour to any one else as if 
she had been the aged husband of a coquettish wife, and as severe 
in her reprehenmons as an abbess over her nuns. The command 
which she exerdsed over her, was that, I fear, of a strong and 
determined over a feeble and more nervous disposition; and 
though it was used with rigour, yet, to the best of Christie Steele's, 
belief, she was urging her mistreas to her best and most becoming 
course, and would have died rather than have recommended any 
other. The. attachment of this woman was linuted to the family 
of Croftangry, for she had few reUtions ; and a dissolute cousin, 
whom late in life she had taken as a husband, had long left her a 
widow. 

To me she had ever a strong dislike. Even firom my early 
childhood, she was jealous, strange as it may seem, of my interest 
in my mother's affections; she saw my foibles and vices with 
abhorrence, and without a grain of allowance ; nor did she pardon 
the weakness of maternal affection, even when, by the death of 
two brothers, I came to be the only child of a widowed parent. 
At the time my disorderly conduct induced my mother to leave 
Glentanner, and retreat to her jointure house, I always blamed 
Christie Steele for having influenced her resentment, and pre- 
vented her from listening to my vows of amendment, which at 
times were real and serious, and might, perhaps, have accelerated 
that change of disposition which has since, I trust, taken place. 
But Christie regiu^ed me as altogether a doomed and predesti- 
nated child of perdition, who was sure to hold on my course, and 
drag downwards whosoever might attempt to afford me support. . 

Still, though I knew such had been Christie's prejudices 
against me in other days, yet I thought enough of time had smoe 
passed away to destroy all of them. I knew, that when, through 
the disorder of my affairs, my mother underwent some temporary 
inconvenience about money matters, Christie, as a thing of course, 
stood in the gap, and having sold a small inheritance which had 
descended to her, brought the purchase-money to her mistress^ 

See Note B SteeU, a Oovenanter, ihot bjf Captain OWtckMa. 

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INTRODUCTORY. 341 

with a sense of devotioii ms deep as that which inspired the 
Christiiuis of the first age, when they sold all they had, and fol- 
lowed the apostles of the church. I therefore thought that we 
might, in old Scottish phrase, ^let byganes be byganes," and 
begin upon a new account Yet I resolTcd, tike a skiUiil 
general, to reconnoitre a tittle before laying down any precise 
scheme of proceeding, and in the interim I determined to pre- 
serve my incognito. 



CHAPTER IV. 
IQt Croftamurs hitsu o^iteu to Clfitol^ale. 

Alas, how dianged from what it had (mce been! 
Twas now degraded to a ocnninon inn. 

Gay. 

' As hour's brisk walking, or thereabouts, placed me in front of 
Duntarkin, which had ^Jso, I found, undergone considerable 
alterations, though it had not been altogether demolished like the 
principal mansion. An inn-yard extended before the door of the 
decent tittle jointure-house, even amidst the remnants of the 
hoUy hedges which had screened the lady's garden. Then a 
broad, raw-looking, new-made road intruded itself up the tittle 
glen, instead of me old horseway, so seldom used that it was 
almost entirely covered with grass. It is a great enormity of 
which gentlemen trustees on the highways are sometimes gmlty, 
in adopting the breadth necessary for an avenue to the metro- 
potis, where all that is required is an access to i^ome sequestered 
and unpopulous district. I do not say any thing of the expense ; 
that the trustees and their constituents may setUe as they please. 
But the destruction of silvan beauty is great, when the breadth 
of the road is more than proportioned to the vale through wbicii 
it runs, and lowers of course the consequence of any objects of 
wood or water, or broken and varied ground, which might 
otherwise attract notice, and give pleasure. A bubbting runnel 
by the side of one of those modem Appian or Flaminian high- 
ways, is but tike a kennel, — the little hiti is diminished to a 
hillock, — the romantic hillock to a molehiU, almost too smaU for 
sight. 

Such an encnnnity, however, had destroyed the quiet loneliness 
of Duntarkin, and intruded its breadth of dust and gravel, and 
ts associations of pochays and mail-coaches, upon one of the 
most sequestered spots in the Middle Wiud of Clydesdale. 
The house was old and dilapidated, and looked sorry for itself, as 
if sensible of a derogation ; but the sign was strong and new, 
and brightly painted, displaying a heraldic shield, throe shuttles 
ui a field diapr^, a web partly unfolded for crest^ and two 



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3142 CHRONICLES OP THE CANONGATE. 

>«to\it giants for supporters, each one holding a wearer's beam 
proper. To have displayed this monstrous emUem on the 
front of the house might have hazarded bringing down the wall, 
but for certain would hare blocked up one or two windows. 
It was therefore established independent of the mansion, being 
displajed in an iron framework, and suspended upon two posts, 
vnm as much wood and iron about it as would have builded a 
brig ; and there it hung, creaking, groaning, and screaming in 
every blast of wind, and frightening for five miles' distance, for 
aught I know, the nests of thrushes and linnets, the ancient 
denizens of the little glen. 

When I entered the place, I was received by Christie Steele 
herself, who seemed uncertain whether to drop me in the kitchen, 
or usher me into a separate apartment. As I called for tea, with 
something rather more substential than bread and butter, and 
spoke of supping and sleeping, Christie at last inducted me into 
the room where she herself had been sitting, probably the only 
one which had a fire, though the month was October. This an- 
swered my fdan ; and, as she was about to remove her spinning- 
wheel, I begged she would have the goodness to remain and make 
my tea, ad<Sng, that I liked ihe sound of the wheel, and desired 
not to disturb her housewife-thrift in the feast. 

*' I dinna ken, sir," — she replied in a dry r&pieke tone, which 
carried me back t^Hwnty years, ^ I am nane of thae heartsome 
landieddies that can tell eonntry cracks, aud make themsells 
agreeable ; and I was ganging to pit on a fire for you in the Red 
"Room ; but if it is your will to stay here; he that pays the lawing 
maun choose the lodging." 

I endeavoured to engage her in conversation ; but, though she 
answered with a kind of stiff civility, I could get her mto no free- 
dom of discourse, and she began to look at her whe^ and at the 
door more than once, as if she meditated a retreat I was obliged, 
therefore, ta proceed to some special questions that might have 
interest for a person, whose ideas were probably of a very bounded 
description. 

I looked round the apartment, being the same in which I had 
last seen my poor mother. The author of the family history, 
formerly mentioned, had taken great credit to himself for the 
improvements he had made in this same jointure-house of Dun- 
tarkin, and how, upon his marriage, when his mother took 
possession of the same as her jointure-house, ^ to his great 
charges and expenses he caused box the walls of the great par- 
lour," (in which I was now sitting,) << empanel the same, and 
plaster the roof, finishing the apartment with ane concavedumney, 
and decorating the same with pictures, and a barometer and ther- 
mometer." And in particular, which his good mother used to 
say she prized above aU the rost, he had caused his own por- 
traiture be limned over the mantelpiece by a skilful hand. And, 
in good faith^ there he remained still, — having much the visage 



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INTRODUCTORY. 343 

whfeh I was dtspoeed to ascribe to him on ihs evidence of his 
handwritings — grim and austere, yet not without a cast of 
sbrewdness and determination ; in armour, though he never wore 
it, I fancy ; one hand on an open book, and one resting on the 
hilt of his sword, though, I dare say, his head never ached with 
reading nor his Umbs with fencing. 

'^ That picture is painted on the wood, madam !*' said I. 

" Ay, sir, or it's like it would not have been left there. They 
took a' they could." 

^ Mr Treddles's credit(»*8, you mean !*' said I. 

" Na," replied she, dryly, ** the creditors of another &mily, 
that sweepit cleaner than this poor man's, because, I fancy, there 
was less to gather." 

" An okkr family, perhaps, add probably more remembered 
and regretted than later possessors V* 

Christie here settled herself in her seat, and pulled her wheel 
towards her. T had given her something interesting for her 
thoughts to dwell upon, and her wheel was a mechanical accom* 
paniraent on such occasions, the revolutions of which assisted her 
in the explanation of her ideas. 

« Mair regretted — mair missed f — I liked ane of the auld family 
very weel, but I winna say that for them a*. How should they 
be mair missed than the Treddleses ! The cotton mill was such 
a thing for the country ! The manr bairns a cottar body had the 
better ; they would make their awn keep frae the time they were 
five years auld ; and a widow, wi' three or four bairns, was a 
wealthy woman in the time oi the Treddleses^" 

" But the health of these poor children, my good friend — their 
education and religious instruction " 

" For health," said Christie, looking gloomily at me, ** ye mann 
ken Uttle of the warld, sir, if ye dinna ken that the health of the 
poor man's body, as weel as his youth and hie strength, are all at 
the command of the rich man's purse. There never was a trade 
so unhealthy yet, but men would fight to get wark at it for twa 
pennies a-day aboon the common wage. But the bairns were 
reasenably weel cared for in the way of air and exercise, and a 
very responsible youth heard them their carritch, and gied them 
lessons in Reediemadeasy.* Now, what did they ever get before ! 
Maybe on a -winter day. they wad be called out to beat the wood 
for cocks or sicklike, and then the starvmg weans would maybe 
get a bite of broken bread, and maybe no, just as the butler was 
in humour — that was a' they got" 

" They were not, then, a very kind family to the poor, thesu 
old possessors !" said T,. somewhat bitterly ; for I had expected to 
hear my ancestors' praises recorded, though i certainly despaired 
of being regaled with my own. 

" They werena ill to them, sir, and thait is aye something. Thejr 

* ** Reading made Easy/' unially io iffonouneed in Scotland. 



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344 CHRONICLES OP THE CANONGATE. 

were jtiBt decent bien bodies ; — ony poor creature that had ftce 
to beg, got an awmous and welcome ; they that were shame&ced 
gaed by, and twice as welcome. But they keepit an honest walk 
before God and man, th^ Croftangrys, and, as I said before, if 
they did little good, they did as little ill. They lifted their ret ts 
and spent them, called in their kain and eat them ; gaed to the 
kirk of a Sunday, bowed civilly if folk took aff their bannets as 
they gaed by, and lookit as black as sin at them that keepit 
them on." 

** These are their arms that you have on the sign !" 
■ " What ! on the painted board that is skirling and groaning at 
the door! — Na, these ane Mr Treddles's arms — though they 
look as like legs as arms — ill pleased I was at the fule thing, that 
cost as muckle as would hae'repaired the house from the wa' 
stane to the rigging-tree. But if I am to bide here, I'll hae a 
decent board wi' a punch bowl on it." 
** Is there a doubt of your staying here, Mrs Steele !" 
" Dinna Mistress me,*' said the cross old woman, whose fing^s 
were now plying their thrift in a manner which indicated nervous 
irritation — *^ there was nae luck in the land since Luckie turned 
Mistress, and Mistress my Leddy ; and as for staying here, if it 
concerns you to ken, I may stay if I can pay a hundred pund 
sterling for the lease, and I may flit if I canna ; and so gude-e'en 
to you, Christie," — and round went the wheel with mudi activity. 
^ And you like the trade of keeping a puMic house !" 
** I can scarce say that," she replied. ** But worthy Mr 
Prendergast is clear of its lawfulness, and I hae gotten used to it, 
and made a decent living, though I never make out a fause 
reckonitig, or give ony ane the means to disorder reason in my 
house." 

'< Indeed V* said I ; ^ in that case, there is no wonder yon have 
not made Up the hundred pounds to purehase the lease." 

'* How do you ken," said she sharply, ** that I might not have 
had a hundred punds of my ain fee*! If I have it not, I am sure 
it is my ain faut ; and I wunna oa' it faut neither, for it gaed to 
her wha was weel entitled to a' my service." Again she polled 
stoutly at the flax, and the wheel went smartly rounds 

" This old gentleman," said I, fixing my eye on the painted 
panel, << seems to have had ki$ arms painted as well as Mr 
Treddles — that is, if that painting in tiie comw be a sent- 
cheon." 

** Ay, ay — cushion, just sae, they maun a' hae their enshicMia; 
there 's sma' gentry without that ; and so the arms, as they ca* 
them, of the house of Glentanner, may be seen on an anld stane 
in the west end of the house. But to do them justice, they didna 
propale sae muckle about them as poor Mr Treddles ^d ; — it 'a 
ike they were better used to them." 

<* Very likely. — Are there any of the old flfunily in life, good* 
wife !" 



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SI 



INTRODUCrrORY. 345 

^ No," she replied ; then added, after a moment's hesitation — 
" not that I know o^*' — and the wheel, which had intermitted, 
began again to revolve. 

** Gkmd abroad, perhaps I" I suggested. 

She now looked up, and faced mer-^ No, sir. There were 
three sons of the last Laird of Glentanner, as he was then called; 
Jo^ and William were hopeful young gentlemen, but they died 
.early — one of a decline, brought on by the mizales, the other 
lost his life in a fever. It would hae been lucky for mony ane 
^hat Chrystal had gane the same gate." 

<< Oh — he must have been the young spendthrift that sold the 
property ! Well, but you should not have such an ill-will asainst 
him *> remember necessity has no law ; and then, goodwife, he 
was not more culpable than Mr Treddles, whom you are so sorry 
for." 

^ I wish I could think sae, sir, for his mother's sake ; but Mr 
Treddles was in trade, and though be had no preceese right to 
do so, yet there was some warrant for a man beine expensive 
that imagined he was making a mint of money. But this unhappy 
lad devoured his patrimony, when he kenned that he was living 
like a ratten in a Dunlap dieese, and diminishing his means at a' 
hands — I canna -bide to think on 't." With this she broke out 
into a snatch of a ballad ; but little of inirth was there either in 
the tone or the expression : — 

*' For he did spoid, and make an end 
Of gear that hto fore&tlier* wan ; 
. Of land and ware he made him bare. 

So speak nae mair of the auld gudeman.** 

" Come, dame," said I, '* it is a long hune that has no turning. 
I will not keep from you that I have heard something of this 
poor fellow, Chrystal Croftangry. He has sown his wild oats, as 
they say, and has settled into a steady reipactable man." 

<* And wha tell'd ye that tidings !" aaid she, looking sharply 
at me. 

^ Not perhaps the best judge in the world of his character, for 
it was himself, dame." 

** And if he tell'd you truth, it was a virtue he did not aye use 
to practise," said Christie. 

<< The devil !" said I, considerably nettled ; << all the world held 
him to be a man of honour." 

" Ay, ay I he would hae shot onybody wi' his pistols and bui 
guns, that had evened him to be a liar. But if he promised tc 
pay an honest tradesman the next term day, did he keep bis 
word thei^t And if he promised a puir silly lass to make glide ^ 
her shame, did he speak Ivuth then ! And what is that, but being 
a liar, and a black-hearted deceitful liar to boot I" 

My indignation was rising, but I strove to suppress it ; indeed, 
I should only have afforded my tormentor a triumph by an an^^ry 
reply. I partly suiqMCted she began to recognize me ; yet sb» 



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34^ CHBONICLBS OF THB CAN0N6ATB. 

testified 80 litde einotioa, that I coald not think my suspicion well 
founded. I went on, therefore, to say, in a tone as indifferent as; 
I could command, " Well, good wife, I see you* will believe no 
good of this Chrystal of yours, till he comes back and buys a good 
&rm on the estate, and makes yon his housekeeper." 

The old woman dropped her thread, folded her hands, as she 
looked up to hearen yntk a face ol apprehension. , ^ The Lord," 
she exclaimed, <' forbid ! The Lord in his mercy forbid ! Ofay 
sir, if you reaHy know this unhieky man, persuade him to settle 
where folk ken the good that yon say he has come to, and dinna 
ken the evil of his former days. He used to be proud enough — 
Oh dinna, let him come here, eyes for hisown sake. — He used 
ance to have some pride." 

Here i^e once more drew the wheel close to her, and began to 
pull at the flax with both hands — '< Dinna let him come here, to 
be looked down upon by ony that may be left of his aold reiving 
companions, and to see Uie decent folk that he k)oked ot^ hia 
nose at look over their noses at Mm, baith at kirk and market. 
Dinna let him come to his aln country to be made a tale about 
when ony neighbour points him out to another, and tells what he 
is, and what he was, and how he wrecked a dainty estate, and 
brought harlots to the do(MScheek of his father^ bouse, tUl he 
made it nae residence for his mother ; and how it had been fore> ' 
tauld by a servant of his ain house, that he was a ne*er-do-weel, 
and a child of perdition, and how her words were made good, 
and " 

" Stop there, good^nfe, if you please," said T ; " you have said 
as much as I can well remember, and more than it may be safe 
to repeat I can use a great deal of freedom with the gentleman 
we speak of ; but I think were any other person to carry him half 
of your message, I would scarce ensure hn personal safety. And 
now, as J see 8ie night is settled to be a fine one, I wiU walk on 

to , where I must meet a coach to-morrow, as it passes to 

Edmburgh." 

So saying, I paid my moderate reckoning, and took my leave, 
without being able to (^scover whether the prejudiced and hard- 
hearted old woman did, or did not, suspect the identity of her 
guest with the Chrystal Croftangry against whom she harboured 
so much dislike. 

The nisht was fine and frosty, though, when I pretended to see 
what its ^aracter was, it might have rained like the deluge. I 
only made the excuse to escape firom old Christie Steele. The 
horses which run races in the Corso at Rome without any riders, 
in order to stimulate their exertion, carry each his own ^mrs, 
namely, small balls of steel, with sharp projecting spikes, which 
are attached to loose straps of leather, and, flying about in tlie 
violence of the agitation, keep the horse to his speed by pricking 
him as they strike against his flanks. The old woman's reproaches 
had the same effect on me, and urged me to a rapid pace, as if it 



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INTBODUCTORY. 347 

had been possible to escape from my own reoolleetions. In the 
best days of my life, when I won one or two hat^ walking matches, 
I doubt if I ever walked so fast as I did betwixt the Treddlea 
Arms and the borough town for which I was bound. Though 
the Dight was cold, I was warm enough by the time I got to my 
inn ; and it required a refreshing draught of porter, with half an 
hour's repose, ere I could determine to give no farther thought to 
Christie and her opinions, than those of any other vulgar preju- 
diced old woman. I resolved at last to treat the thing en haga- 
telle, and, calling for writing materials^ I folded up a check for 
£l60, with these linee on the envelop : 

•« Chrystal/the ne*er-do-wed. 
Child deitined to the d«U, 
Seoda this to Christie Steele." 

And I was so much pleased with this new mode of viewing the 
subject, that I regretted the lateness of the hour prevented my 
finding a person to carry the letter express to its destination. 

** But with the morning cool reflection came." 

I considered that the money, and probably more, was actually 
due by me on my mother's account to Christie, who had lent it in 
a moment of great necessity, and that the returning it in a light 
or ludicrous manper was not unlikely to prevent so touchy and 

Eunctilious a person from accepting a debt which was most justly 
er due, and which it became me particularly to see satisfied. 
Sacrificing then my triad with little regret, (for it looked better 
by candlc^ght, and through the medium of a pot of porter, than 
it did by daylight, and with bohea for a menstruum,) I determmed 
to, employ lor Fairscribe's mediation in buying up the lease of 
the little inn, and conferring it upon Christie in the way which 
should make it most acceptable to her feelings. It is only neces- 
sary to add, that my phm succeeded, and that Widow Steele even 
yet keeps the Treddles Arms. Do not say, therefore, that I have 
been disingenuous with you, reader ; since^ if I have not told aH 
the ill of myself I rai^^t have done, I have indicated to you a 
person able and willing to supply ihe blank, by relating aU my 
delinquencies, as well as my misfortnnes. 
. In the meantime^ I totally abandoned the idea of redeeming 
any part of my patcnmal property, and resolved to take Christie 
Steele's advice, as yoong Morval does Glenalvon's ^ although it 
sounded harshly ," 



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348 CHB0NI0LE8 OF THE CANONGATR. 

CHAPTER V. 
USt Croftangtfi Mttles tit tl^e (E^anongatr. 

—If you will know my hoiue, , 
'Tit at tlie tuft of OUves here hard by. 

Ai Tou Like Tt. 

Bt a rerdntioii of humour which I am unable to account for, 
I chanced my mind entirely on my plans of life, in consequence 
of the disappointment, the history of which fills the last chapter. 
I began to discover that the country would not at all suit me ; for 
I had relinquished field-sports, and felt no inclination what- 
ever to fanning, the ordinary vocation of country gentlemen ; 
besides that, I £id no talent for assisting either candi(£tte, in case 
of an expectod election, and saw no amusement in the duties of it 
road trustee, a conunissioner of supply, or even in the ma^sterial 
functions of the bench. I had begun to take some taste for read- 
ing ; and a domiciliation in the country must remove me from the 
use of books, excepting the small subscription library, in which 
the very book which you want is uniformly sure to be engaged. 

I resMved, therefore, to make the Scottish m^tropolis my regu- 
lar resting-^lace, reserving to myself to take occasionally those 
excursions, which, spite of all I have said against mail-coaches, 
Mr Piper has rendered so easy. Friend of our life ,and of our 
leisure, he secures by despatch against loss of time, and by the 
best of coaches, cattle, and the steadiest of drivers, agiinst hasard 
of limb, and wafts us, as well as our letters, from Edinburgh to 
Cape Wrath, in the penning of a paragraph. 

When my mind was quite made up to make Auld Reekie my 
headquarters, reserving tiie privilege of exploring in all directions, 
I be^^ to explore in good earnest for the purpose of discovering 
a suitable habitation. ^ And whare trew ye I gaedf as Sir 
Pertinax says. Not to George's Square — nor to Charlotte 
Square — nor to the old New Town — nor to the new New Town — 
nor to the Calton Hill ; I went to the Canongate, and to the very 
portion of the Canongate in which I had formerly been immured, 
iike the errant knight, prisoner in some enchanted castle, where 
spells have made the ambient air impervious to the unhappy 
e^tive, although the organs of sight encountered no obstacle to 
his free passage. 

Why I should have thoueht of pitching my tent here I cannot 
teU. Perhaps it was to enjoy the pleasures of freedom, where I 
had SQ long endured the bitterness of restraint ; on the principle 
of the officer, who, after he had retired from ^e army, ordered 
his servant to continue to call him at the hour of parade, simplj 
that he might have the pleasure of sayins — ^ D — n the parade v* 
and turning to the other side to enjoy his slumbers. Or perhaps 



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INTRODUCTORY. 349 

X expected to find in the vicinity some little old-fashioned house^ 
having Bomewhat of the nu in urbe, which I was ambitious of en- 
joying. Enough, I went, as aforesaid, to the Canongate. 

I stood by the kennel, of which I hare formerly spoken, and^ 
my mind being at ease, my bodily organs were more delicate. I 
was more sensible than heretofore, that, like the trade of Pompey 

in Measure for Measure — it did in some sort pah — an onnoe 

of civet, good apothecary 1 — Turning from thence, my steps natu- 
rally directed themselves to my own bumble apartment, where my 
little Highhmd landlady, as dapper and as tight as ever, (for old 
women wear a hundred times better than the hard-wrought seniors 
of the masculine sex,) stood at the door teedling to herself a High- 
land song as she shook a table napkin over the forestair, and then ' 
proceeded to fold it up neatly for future service. 

" How do you, Janet V* 

« Thank ye, good sir," answered my old friend, without looking 
at me ; ^ but ye might as weel say Mrs MacEvoy, for she is na 
aTxMiy's Shanet — umph." 

*' You must be my Janet, though, for all that — have you for- 
got me ! — Do you not remember Clirystal Croftangry t" 

The light, kind-hearted creature threw her napkin into the open 
door, skipped down the stair like a fairy, three steps at once, 
seized me by the hands, — both hands, — jumped up, and actually 
kissed me. I was a little ashamed ; but what swain, of some- 
where inclining to sixty, could resist the advances of a fiair con- 
temporary ! So we aUowed the full degree of kindness to the 
meeting, — honi soU qui mal ypense, — and then Janet entered 
instantly upon business. '^ An' ye '11 gae in, man, and see your 
auld lodgings, nae doubt, and Shanet will pay ye the fifteen 
sliillings of change that ye ran away without, and without bidding 
Shanet good-day. — But never mind," (nodding good-humouredly,) 
** Shanet saw you were carried for the time." 

By this time we were in my old quarters, and Janet, with her 
bottle of cordial in one hand and the glass in the other, had 
forced on me a dram of usquebaugh, (JUstilled with saffron and 
other herbs, after some old-fashioned Highland receipt. Then 
was unfolded, out of many a little scrap of paper, the reserved 
sum of fifteen shillings, which Janet had treasured for twenty 
years and upwards. 

^ Here they are," she said, in honest triumph, ^ just the same 
I was holding out to ye when ye ran as if ye had been fey. 
Shanet has had siller, and Shanet has wanted siller, mony a time 
since that — and the ganger has come, and the factor has come, 
■and the butcher and baker — Cot bless us — just like to tear poor 
auld Shanet to pieces ; but she took good care of Mr Croftangry's 
fifteen shillings." 

** But what if I had never come back, Janet !" 

** Och, if Shanet had heard you were dead, she would hae gien 
U to die voo' o^ tb® chapel, to pray for Mr Croftangry," said 



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350 CHRONICLES OF TBS OANONOATE. 

Janet, erosdng herself for she was a Catholie ; — <* you maybe dn 
loot ttunk it would do you eood, but the blessing oi the poor can 
never do no harm.*' 

I heartily agreed in Janet's oondosion ; and, as to have desired 
her to consider the hoard as her own property, would hare been 
an indelicate return to her for the uprightnesB of her oonduct, I 
requested her to dispose of it as she had proposed to do in ^ 
event of my death, that is, if she knew any poor pe<^le of merit 
to whom it might be useful. 

^Ower mony of them," raiung the comer of her checked 
aproo to her eyes, ^e'en ower mony of them, Mr Croftangry. — 
Och, ay — there va the puir Highland creatures ine Glenshiee, 
that cam down for the harvest, uid are lying wi' the fever -^^ five 
shillings to them, and half-a-erown to Bessie MacEvoy, whose 
coodman, puir creature, died of the fi*ost, being a shairman, for a* 
the whisky he could drink to keep it out o' his stamoch — and " 

But she suddenly interrupted the bead-roU of her proposed 
charities, and assuming a very sage look, and primming up her 
little chattering mouth, she we&t on in a different tone — ** But, 
och, Mr Croftangry, bethink ye whether ye will not need a' this 
siller yoursell, and maybe look back and think lang for ba'en 
kiven it away, whilk is a creat sin to forthink a wark o' charity, 
and also is unlucky, and, moreover, is not the thought of a 
shentleman's son like yoursell, dear. And I say this, that ye may 
think a bit ; for your mother's son kens that ye are no so careful 
as you should be of the gear, and I hae tauld ye of it before, 
jewel" 

I assured her I could easily spare the money, without risk (^ 
foture repentance ; and she went on to infer, that, in such*a case, 
** Mr Croftangry had grown a rich man in foreign parts, and was 
free of his troubles with messengers and sheriff-officers, and sic* 
like scum of the earth, and Shanet Mae£voy'8 mother's dau^ter 
be a blithe woman to hear it. But if Mr Croftangry was in 
trouble, there was his room, and his ped, and Shanet to wait on 
him, and tak payment when it was quite convenient." 

I explained to Janet my situation, in which she. expressed un- 
qualified delight I then proceeded to inquire into her own 
dreumstances, and, though she spoke cheerfully and contentedly, 
I could see they were precarious. I had paid more than was 
due ; other lodgers fell into an opposite error, and forgot to pay 
Janet at all. Then, Janet being ignorant of all indirect modes of 
screwing money out of her lodgers, others in the same line of 
life, who were sharper than the poor simile Highland woman, 
were enaUed to let their apartments cbniper in appearance^ 
tiiough the inmates usually found them twice as dear in the 
long-run. 

As I had already destined my old landlady to be my house- 
keeper and govemante, knowing her honesty, good^natnre, and, 
although a Scotchwoman, her cleanliness and excellent temper, 



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INTRODUCTOBT. 351 

(saving the short and luMty expresuons of anger which High- 
landers call %fiiffy) I DOW proposed the plan to her in sudi a way 
as was likely to make it most acceptable. Very acceptable as the 
proposal was, as I could plainly see, Janet, howerer, took a day 
to consider upon it ; and her reflections against our next meeting 
had suggested only one objecti(Hi, which was singular enough. 

^ My honour," so she now termed me, ** would pe for bi£ng in 
some fine street apout the town ; now Shanet wad ill Uke to live 
in a pbuse where poUsh, and sherifi&, and bailiffs, and sic thieves 
and trash of the world, could tak puir shentlemen by the throat, 

C' because they wanted a wheen dollars in the sporran. She 
lived in the bonny glen of Tomanthoulick — Ck)t, an ony of 
the vermint had come there, her &^er wad hae wared a shot on 
them, and he could hit a buck within as mony measured yards as 
e'er a man of his dan. And the place here was sae quiet frae 
titem, they durstna put their nose ower the gutter. Shanet owed 
nobody a bodle, put she couldna pide to see honest folk and 
pretty shentlemen forced away to prison whether they would or 
BO ; and then if Shanet was to lay her tangs ower ane of the raga- 
muffin's heads, it would be, maybe, that the hiw would gie 't a 
hard name." 

One thing I have learned in life, — never to speak sense when 
nonsense will answer the purpose as well. I should have had 
great difficulty to convince this practical and disinterested admirer 
and vindicator of liberty, that arrests seldom or never were to be 
seen in the streets of Edinburgh, and to satisfy her of their jus- 
tice and necessity, would have been as difficult as to convert her 
to the Protestant faith. I therefore assured her my intention, if 
I could get a suitable habitation, was to remain in the quarter 
where she at present dwelt. Janet gave three skips on the floor, 
and uttered as many short shrill yeUs of joy ; yet doubt almost 
instantly returned, and she insisted on knowing what possible 
reason I could have for making my residence where few lived, 
save those whose misfortunes drove them thither. It occurred to 
me to answer her by recounting the legend of the rise of my 
family, and of our deriving our name from a particular place 
near Holyrood Palace^ This, which would have appeared to 
most people a very absurd reason for choosing a residence, was 
entirely satisfactory to Janet MacEvoy. 

*^ Och, nae doubt I if it was the land 6f her fathers, there was 
nae mair to be said. Put it was queer that her family estate 
should just lie at the town tail, and covered with houses, where 
the King*s cows. Cot bless them hide and bom, used to craze 
upon, ft was strange changes." — She mused a little, and then 
added, ^Put it is something better wi' Croftangry when the 
changes is frae the field to the habited place, and not from the 
pli|49e of habitation to the desert ; for Shanet, her nainsell, kent a 
glen where there were men as weel as there may be in Croftangry, 
and if there werena altogether sae mony of them, they were as 



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352 CHBONICLKS OF THE CANONGATB. 

good men m their turtan as the others in thdr broadcloth. And 
diere were houses too ; and if they were not biggit with stane and 
lime, and lofted like the houses at Croftangry, yet they served the 
purpose of them that lived there ; and mnny a braw bonnet^ and 
mony a silken snood, and eomely white eurch, would come oat to 
gang to kirk or chapel on the Lord's day, and Uttle bairns toddling 
after; and now, — Och, Och, Ohellany, Ohonari ! the glen is 
desolate, and the braw snoods and bonnets are gane, and the 
Saxon*s house stands dull and lonely, like the single bare-breaated 
rock that the falcon builds on — the falcon that drives the heath- 
bii*d frae the glen." 

Janet, like many Highlanders, was full of imagination ; and, 
when melancholy themes came upon her, expressed herself almost 
poetically, owing to the touIus of the Celtic language in which 
she tliought, and in whi<m, doubtless, she would Imve spoken, had 
J understood Ghielic. In two minutes the shade of gloom and 
regret had passed from her good-humoured features, and she was 
again the Uttle, busy, prating, important old woman, undisputed 
owner of one flat of a small tenement in the Abbey-yard, and 
about to be promoted to be housekeeper to an elderly bachelor 
gentleman, Chrystal Croftangry, Esq. 

It was not long before Janet's lootl researches found out ex- 
actly the sort of place I wanted, and there we settled. Janet 
was afraid I would not be satisfied, because it is not exactly part 
of Croftangry ; but I stopped her doubts, by assuring her it had 
been part and pendicle thereof in my forefathers' time, which 
passed very well. 

I do not intend to possess any one with an exact knowledge of 
my lodging ; though, as BobadU says, '^ I care not who knows it, 
since the cabin is convenient." But I may state in general, that 
it is a house *^ within itself," or, according to a newer phraseology 
in advertisements, idf-contained, has a garden of near half an aicre, 
and a patch of ground with trees in front. It boasts five rooms, 
and servants' apartments — looks in front upon the palace, and 
from behind towards the hill and crags of the King^s Park. 
Fortunately the place had a name, which, with a little improve- 
ment, served to countenance the legend which I had imposed on 
Janet, and would not perhaps have been sorry if I had been able 
to impose on myself. It was called Littlecroft ; we have dubbed 
it Little Croftangry, and the men of letters belonging to the Post 
Office have sanctioned the change, and deliver letters so addressed. 
Thus I am to all intents and purposes Chrystal Croftangry of that 
Ilk. 

My establishment consists of Janet, an under maid-servant, 
and a Highland wench for Janet to exercise her Graelic upon, 
with a handy lad who can lay the cloth, and take care besides <t£ 
a pony, on which I find my way to Portobello sands, especially 
when the cavafry have a drill ; for, like an old fool as I am, I . 
have not altogether become incfifierent to the tramp of horses and 



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INTRODUCTORY. 353 

the flash of weaponSyof which, though no professional soldier, it 
has heen my fate to see something in my youth. For wet morn- 
ings, I have my book — is it fine weather, I visit, or I wander 
on the Crags, as the humour dictates. My dinner is indeed soli- 
tary, yet not quite so neil^r ; for though Andrew waits, Janet, 
or, — as she is to all the world but her master, and certain old 
Highland gossips, — Mrs MacEvc^, attends, bustles about, and 
desires to see every thing is in first-rate order, and to tell me, Cot 
pless us, the wonderful news of the Palace for the day. When 
the cloth is removed, and I light my cigar, and begin to husband 
a pint of port, or a glass of old whisky and water, it is the rule of 
the house that Janet takes a chair at some distance, and nods or 
works her stocking, as she may be diq[K)sed ; ready to speak, if I 
am in the talking humour, and sitting quiet as a mouse if I am 
rather inclined to study a book or the newspaper. At six pre- 
cisely she makes my tea, and leaves me to drink it ; and then 
occurs an interval of time which most old bachelors find heavy 
on their hands. The theatre is a good occasional resource, 
especially if Will Murray acts, or a bright star of eminence shines 
forth ; iKit it is distant, and so are one or two public societies to 
which I belong ; besides these evening walks are all incompa- 
tible with the elbow-chair feeling, which desires some employment 
that may divert the mind without fatiguing the body. 

Under the influence of these impressions, T have sometimes 
thought of this literary undertaking. I must have been the 
Bonassus himself to have mistaken myself for a genius, yet I 
have leisure and reflection like my neighbours. I am a borderer 
also between two generations, and can point out more perhaps 
than others of those fading traces of antiquity which are daily 
vanishing ; and I know many a modei*n instance and many an 
old tradition, and therefore I ask — 

What ails me, I may not. as weM ns they. 
Rake up some threadbare tales, that mouldering lay 
In ehininey comers, wont by Christmas fires 
To read and rock to sleep our ancient s^es ? 
No man his threshold better knows, than I 
Brute's first arrival and first victory, 
Sahit George's sorrel and his cross of blood, 
Arthur's round board and Caledonian wood. 

No shop is so easily set up as an antiquary's. Like those of 
the lowest order of pawnbrokers, a commodity of rusty iron, a 
bag or two of hobnails^ a few odd shoebuckles, cashiered kail-pots, 
and fire-inms dedared incapable of service, are quite sufficient to 
set him up. If he add a sheaf or two of penny ballads and 
broadsides, he is a great man — an extenmve trader. And then 
— like the pawnbrokers aforesaid, if the author understands a 
littie legerdemain, he may, by dint of a littie picking and stealing, 
make the inside of his shop a great deal richer than the out, and 
be able to shew you things which cause those who do not under- 

VOL. XfX. a 



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354 CHRONICLES OF IHB CANONGATE. 

stand the aDtiqaarian triek of elean oonveyanoe, to wonder how 
the devil he came by them. 

It may be said, that antiquarian articles interest but few 
customers, and that we may bawl ourselTes as rusty as the wares 
w^ deal in without any one asking the price of our merchandise. 
But I do not rest my hopes upon this department of my labours 
only. I propose also to have a corresponding shop for Sentiment, 
and DiiJogues, and Disquisition, which may captivate the fancy <^ 
those who have no reli^, as the established phrase goes, for pure 
antiquity ; — a sort of green-grocer's stall erected in front of my 
ironmon|;ery wares, garlanduig the rusty memorials of ancient 
times, with cresses, cabbages, leeks, and water purpy. 

As I have some idea tluit I am writing too well to be under- 
stood, I humble myself to ordinary language, and aver, with 
becoming modesty, that I do think myself capable of sustaining a 
publication of a miscellaneous nature, as like to the Spectator or 
the Ghiardian, the Mirror or the Lounger, as my poor abilities may 
be able to accomplish. Not that I haye any purpose of imitating 
Johnson, whose general power of learning and expression I do 
not deny, but many of whose Ramblers are little better than a 
sort of pageant, where trite and obvious maxims are made to 
swagger in lofty and mystic language, and get some credit only 
because thev are not easily understood. l%ere are some of the 
great Moralist's papers which I cannot peruse without thinking 
on a second-rate masquerade, where the best-known and least- 
esteemed characters in town march in as heroes, and sultans, 
and so forth, and, by dint of tawdry dresses, get some conside- 
ration until tiiey are found out. It is not, however, prudent to 
commence with throwing stones, just when I am striking out 
windows of my own. 

J think even the local situation of Littie Croftangry may be 
considered as favourable to my undertaking. A nobler contrast 
there can hardly exist than that of the huge city, dark with the 
smoke of ages, and groaning with the various sounds of active 
industry or idle revel, and the lofty and craggy hill, silent and 
solitary as the grave ; one exhibiting the full tide of existence, 
pressing and predpitating itself forward with the force of an 
inundation ; tne other resembling some time-worn anchorite, 
whose life passes as silent and unobserved as the slender rill 
which escapes unheard, and scarce seen, from the fountain of his 
patron saint The ci^ resembles the busy temple where the 
modem Comus and Mammon hold their court, and thousands 
sacrifice ease, independence, and virtue itself, at tiieir shrine ; 
the misty and lonely mountain seems as a throne to tiie majestic 
but terrible Grenius of feudal times, when the same divinities die* 
pensed coronets and domains to those who had heads to devise, 
and arms to execute, bold enterprises. 

I have, as it were, the two extremities of the moral world at 
my threshold. From the front door, a few minutes' walk brings 



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INTRODUCTORY. 355 

me into the heart 6f a wealthy and populous city ; as many paces 
from my opposite entrance, places me in a soUtude as complete 
as Zimmerman could have desired. Surely with such aids to my 
imagination, I may write better than if I were in a lodging in the 
New Town, or a garret in the old. As the Spaniard says, ^ Via- 
9108 — Caracco /" 

I have not chosen to publish periodically, my reason for which 
was twofold. In the first place, I don't like to be hurried, and 
have had enough of duns in an early part of my life, to make me 
reluctant to hear of, or see one, even in the less awfid shape of 
a printer's devil. But, secondly, a periodical paper is not easily 
extended in circulation beyond the quarter in which it is pub- 
lished. This work, if publiEhed in fugitive numbers, would scarce, 
without a high pressure on the part of the bookseller, be raised 
above the Netherbow, and never could be expected to ascend to 
the level of Prince's Street. Now, I am ambitious that my com- 
positions, though having their origin in this Valley of Holyrood, 
should not only be extended into those exalted regions I have 
mentioned, but also that they should cross the Forth, astonish the . 
long town of Kirkaldy, enchant the skippers and colliers of the 
East of Fife, venture even into the classic arcades of St Andrews, 
and travel as much farther to the north as the breath of applause 
will carry their sails. As for a southward direction, it is not to 
be hoped for in ray fondest dreams. T am informed tiiat Scottish 
literature, like Scottish whisky, will be presently laid under a 
prohibitory duty. But enough of this. If any reader is dull 
enough not to comprehend the advantages which, in point of cir- 
culation, a compact book has over a collection of fugitive num- 
bers, let him try the range of a gun loaded with hail-shot, 
against that of the same piece charged with an equal weight of 
lead consolidated in a single bullet. 

Besides, it was of less consequence that I should have pu'blished 
periodically, since I did not mean to solicit or accept of the con- 
tributions of friends, or the critcisms of those who may be less 
kindly disposed. Notwithstanding the excellent examples which 
might be quoted, I will establish no begging-box, either under the 
name of a lion's-head or an ass's. What is good or ill shall be 
mine own, or the contribution of friends to whom I may have 
private access. Many of my voluntary assistants might be 
cleverer than myself, and then I should have a brilliant article 
appear among my chiller effusions, like a patch of lace on a Scottish 
cloak of Gralashiels gray* Some might be worse, and then I must 
reject them, to the injury of the feelings of the writer, or else 
insert them, to make my own darkness yet more opaque and 
palpable. '< Let every herring," says our old-fiEUBhioned proverb, 
** hang by his own head." 

One person, however, I may distinguish, as she is now no more, 
who, living to the utmost term of human life, honoured lue with 
a great share of her friendship^ as indeed we were blood-relatiT''^ 



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356 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. 

in the Scottish sense — Heaven knows how many degrees re 
moved — and friends in the sense of Old England. I mean tiie 
late excellent and regretted Mrs Bethune Baliol. But as I design 
this admirable picture of the olden time for a principal character 
in my work, I will only say here, that she knew and approved of 
my present purpose ; and though she declined to contribute to it 
while she lived, from a sense of dignified retirement, which she 
thought became her age, sex, and condition in life, she left me 
some materials for carrying on my proposed w<»rk, which I 
coveted when I heard her detiul them in conversation, and which 
now, when I have their substance in her own handwriting, I 
account far more valuable than any thing I have myself to offer* 
I hope the mentioning her name in conjunction with my own, 
will give no offence to any of her numerous friends, as it was her 
own express pleasure that I should employ the manuscripts, 
which she did me the honour to bequeath me, in the manner in 
which I have now used them. It must be added, however, thst 
in most cases I have disguised names, and in some have added 
shading and colouring to bring out the narrative. 

Much of my matenals, besides these, are derived from friends, 
-living or dead. The accuracy of some of these may be doubtful, 
in which case I shall be happy to receive, from sv^cient autho- 
rity, the correction of the errors which must creep into traditional 
documents. The object of the whole publication is, to throw 
some lig^i* on the manners of Scotland as they were, and to con- 
trast them, occasionally, with those of the present day. My own 
opinions are in favour of our own times in many respects, but not 
in so far as affords means for exercising the imagination, or ex- 
citing the interest which attaches to other times. I am glad to 
be a writer or a reader in 1826, but I would be most interested 
in reading or relating what happened from half a century to a 
century l^ore. We have the best of it. Scenes in whidii our 
ancestors thought deejay, acted fiercely, and died desperately, are 
to us tales to divert the tedium of a winter's evening, when we 
are engaged to no party, or beguile a summer's morning, when it 
is too scorching to ride or walk. 

Yet I do not mean that my essays and narratives should be 
limited to Scotland. I pledge myself to no particular line of 
subjects ; but, on the contrary, say with Bums, 

Perhaps it may turn out a sang. 
Perhaps turn out a sermon. 

I have only to add, by way of postscript to these preliminary 
chapters, that I have had recourse to Moliere's recipe, and read 
my manuscript over to my old woman, Janet MaoEvoy. 

The dignity of being consulted delighted Janet ; and W]lkie,or 
Allan, would have made a capital sketch of her, as she sat up- 
right in her chair, instead of her ordinary lounging postore, 
knitting her stocking aystematiadly, as if ^e meant every 



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INTRODUCTORY. 367 

twist of her thread, and inclination of the wires, to bear burden 
to the cadence of my voice. I am afraid, too, that I myself felt 
more delight than I ought to have done in my own composition^ 
andread a little more oratorically than I should hare ventured to ^o 
before an auditor, of whose applause I was not secure. And the 
result did not entirely encourage my plan of censorship. Janet 
did indeed seriously incline to the account of my previous life, 
and bestowed some Highland maledictions more emphatic than 
courteous on Christie Steele's reception of a <* shentlemans in 
distress," and of her own mistress's house too. I omitted, for 
certain reasons, or greatly abridged, what related to herself. But 
when I came to treat of my general views in pubUcation, I saw 
poor Janet was entirely thrown out, though, like a jaded hunter, 
panting, puffing, and short of wind, she endeavoured at least to 
keep up with the chase. Or rather her perplexity made her look 
all the while like a deaf person ashamed of his infirmity, who does 
not understand a word you are saying, yet desires you to believe 
that he does understand you, and who is extremely jealous that 
you suspect his incapacity. When she saw that some remark 
was necessary, she resembled exactly in her criticism the devotee 
who pitdied on th6 " sweet word Mesopotamia," as the most 
edifying note which she could bring away from a sermon. She 
indeed hastened to bestow general praise on what she said was 
all '* very fine f but chiefly dwelt on what I had said about Mr 
Timmerman, as she was pleased to call the German philosopher, 
and sapposed he must be of the same descent with the Highland 
dan of M^Intyre, which signifies Son of the Carpenter. ^* And a 
fery honourable name too — Shanet's own mither was a M'Intyre." 
In short, it was plain the latter part of my introduction was 
altogether lost on poor Janet ; and so, to have acted up to 
Mdiere's system, I i^ould have cancelled the whole, and written 
it anew. But I do not know how it is ; I retained, I suppose, 
some tolerable opinion of my own compositicm, though Janet did 
not comprehend it, and felt loath to retrench those delilahs of the 
imagbiation, as Dryden calls them, the tropes and figures of which 
are caviar to the multitude. Besides, I hate re-writing, as much 
as Falstaff did paying back — it is a double Ubour. So I deter- 
mined with myself to consult Janet, in future, only on such things 
as were within tiie limits of her comprehension, and hazard my 
arguments and my rhetoric on the public without her imprimatur. 
I am pretty sure she will ^ apphuid it done." And in such nar- 
ratives as come within her range of thou^ and feeling, I shall, 
as I first intended, take the bend&t of her unsophisticated judg- 
ment, and attend to it deferentially -^ that is, when it happens 
not t^ be in peculiar opposition to my own ; for, after all, I say, 
with Almanzor — 

Know that I alone am king of me. 
The reader has now my who and my whereabout, the purpose of 



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358 CHRONICLES OF THE CAN0N6ATE. 

the work, and the circamstanoes under which it is undertaken. 
He has also a q>ecimen of the author's talents, and may judge 
for himself, and proceed, or send back the volume to the book- 
seller, as his own taste shall determine. 



CHAPTER VL 
^r Croftangrs'0 Aeeottnt of AStrs ISetthiiu ISaliol 

The mo(m, wne she esrtbly, no nobler. 

CorManw, 

When we set out on the jolly voyage of life, what a brave fleet 
there is around us, as stretching our fresh canvass to the breeze, 
all <^ shipshape and Bristol fashion," pennons flying, music play- 
ing, cheering .each other as we pass, we are rather amused than 
alarmed when some awkward comrade goes right ashore, for want 
of pilotage ! — Alas ! when the voyage is well spent, and we look 
about us, toil-worn mariners, how few of our ancient consorts still 
V remain in ught, and they, how torn and wasted, and, like ourselves, 
struggling to keep as long as possible off the fS&tal shore, against 
whidi we are all finally drifting ! 

I felt this very trite but melancholy truth in all its force the 
other day, when a packet with a black seal arrived, containing a 
letter addressed to me by my late excellent fiiend Mrs Marttia 
Bethune Baliol, and marked with the fatal indorsation, '< To be 
delivered according to address, after I shall be no more." A 
letter from her executors accompanied the packet, mentioning 
that they had found in her will a bequest to me of a painting <? 
some value, which she stated would just fit the space above mv 
cupboard, and fifty guineas to buy a ring. And thus I separated, 
with all the kindness which we had maintained for many years, 
from a friend, who, though old enough to have been the compa- 
nion of my mother, was yet, in gaiety of l^pirits, and admirable 
sweetness of temper, capable of being agreeable, and even ani- 
mating society, for those who write themselves in the vaward of 
youth ; an advantage which I have lost for these five-and-thirty 
years. The contents of the packet I had no difficulty in guessing, 
and have partly hinted at them in the last chapter. But, to 
instruct the reader in the particulars, and at the same time to 
indulge myself with recalling the virtues and agreeable qualities 
of my kite friend, I will give a short sketch of her manners and 
habits. 

Mrs Martha Bethune Baliol was a person of quality and for- 
tune, as these are esteemed in Scotland. Her family was ancient^ 
and her connections honourable. She was not fond of spediUly 



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INTRODUCTORY. 369 

indicating her exact age, but her juvenile reconeclaons stretched 
backward till before the eventful year 1745 ; and she remem- 
bered the Highland clans being in possession of the Scottish 
capital, though probably only as an indistinct vision. Her for- 
tune, independent by her father's bequest, was rendered opulent 
by the death of more than one brave brother, who fell succes- 
sively in the service of their country; so that Ihe family estates 
became vested in the only surviving child of the ancient house of 
Bethune Baliol. My intimacy was formed with the excellent 
lady after this event, and when she was already something ad- 
vanced in age. 

She inhabited, when in Edinburgh, where she regularly spent 
the winter season, one of those old hotels, which, till of late, were 
to be found in the neighbourhood of the Canongate, and of the 
Palace of Holyroodhouse, and which, separated from the street, 
now dirty and vulgar, by paved courts, and gardens of some 
extent, made amends for an indifferent access, by shewing some- 
thing of aristocratic state and seclusion, when you were once admit- 
ted within their precincts. They have pulled her house down ; for, 
indeed, betwixt building and burning, every ancient monument 
of the Scottish capital is now likely to be utterly demohshed. I 
pause on the recollections of the place, however ; and since nature 
has denied a pencil when she placed a pen in my hand, I will 
endeavour to make words answer the purpose of delineation. 

BalioPs Lodging, so was the mansion named, reared its high 
stack of chimneys, among which were seen a turret or two, and 
one of those small projecting platforms called bartizans, above 
the mean and modem buildings which line the south side of the 
Canongate, towards the lower end of that street, and not distant 
from the palace. A porte coohire, having a wicket for foot 
passengers, was, upon due occasion, unfolded by a lame old man, 
tall, grave, and thin, who tenanted a hovel beiside the gate, and 
acted as porter. To this office he had been promoted by my 
friend's charitable feelings for an old soldier, and partly by an 
idea, that his head, which was a very fine one, bore some resem- 
blance to that of Garrick in the character of Lusignan. He was 
a man saturnine, silent, and slow in his proceedings, and wouid 
never open the porte eoehire to a hackney coach ; indicating the 
wicket with his finger, as the proper passage for all who came in 
that obscure vehicle, which was not permitted to degrade with 
its ticketed presence the dignity of Baliol's Lodging. I do not 
think this peculiarity would have met with his lady's approbation, 
any more than the occasional partiality of Lusignan, or, as 
mortals called him, Archy Macready, to a dram. But Mrs 
Martha Bethune Baliol, conscious that, in case of conviction, she 
could never have prevailed upon herself to dethrone the King of 
Palestine from the stone bench on which he sat for hours knitting 
his stocking, refused, by accrediting the intelligence, even to put 
him upon Sis trial ; well judging that he would observe more 



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360 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. 

wholesome caution if he conceived his character nnsospeeted, 
than if he were detected, and suffered to pass anpunished. For 
after all, she said, it would be cruel to dismiss an old Highland 
soldier for a peccadillo so appropriate to his country and profes- 
sion. 

The stately gate for carriages, or the humble accommodatioii 
for foot-passengers, admitted into a narrow and short paaaage, 
running between two rows of lime-trees, whose green foliage, 
during the spring, contrasted strangely with the swart complexion 
of the two walls by the side of which they grew. This access led 
to the front of the house, which was formed by two gable ends, 
notched, and having their windows adorned with heavy ardiitee- 
tural ornaments ; they joined each other at right angles ; and a 
half circular tower, which contained the entrance and the stair- 
case, occupied the point of junction, and rounded the acate angle. 
One of other two sides of the little court, in which there was just 
RufiRcient room to turn a carriage, was occupied by some low 
buildings answering the purpose of offices ; the other, by a para- 
pet surrounded by a highly-ornamented iron railing, twined round 
with honeysuckle and other parasitical shrubs, which permitted 
the eye to peep into a pretty suburban garden, exten^g down 
to the road called the South Back of the Canongate, and boasting 
a number of old trees, many flowers, and even some fruit. We 
must not forget to state, that the extreme cleanliness of the court- 
yard was such as intimated that mop and pail had done their 
utmost in that favoured spot, to atone for'the general dirt and 
dinginess of the quarter where the premises were situated. 

Over the doorway were the arms of Bethune and Baliol, with 
various other devices carved in stone; the door itself was studded 
with iron nails, and formed of black oak ; an iron rasp,* as it was 
called, was placed on it, instead of a knocker, for the purpose of 
summoning the attendants. He who usually appeared at the 
summons was a smart lad, in a handsome livery, the son of Mrs 
Martha's gardener at Mount Baliol. Now and then a servant girl, 
nicely but plainly dressed, and fully accoutred with stockings and 
shoes, would perforjn this duty; and twice or thrice I remember 
being admitted by Beauffet himself, whose exterior looked as 
much like that of a clergyman of rank as the butler of a gefttle- 
roan's family. He had been valet-de-chambre to the last Sir 
Richard Bethune Baliol, and was a person highly trusted bj the 
present lady. A full stand, as it is called in S(K>tland, of garments 
of a .dark colour, gold buckles in his shoes, and at the knees of 
his breeches, with his hair regularly dressed and powdered, 
announced him to be a domestic of trust and importance. Hia 
mistress used to say of him. 

He '8 sad and civil. 
And loits well for a servant with my fortunes 

« Bee Note F. Iron lUup 



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INTRODUCTORY. 361 

As no one can escape scandal; some said that Beaufiet made 
a rather better thing ol the place than the modesty of his old- 
fashioned wages would, unassisted, have amounted to. But the 
man was always very civi| to me. He had been long in the 
family ; had enjoyed legacies, and laid by a something of his own, 
upon which he now enjoys ease with dignity, in as far as his 
newly-married wife, Tibbie Shortacres, will permit him. 
/ The Lodging — Dearest reader, if you are tired, pray pass 
over the next four or five pages — was not by any means so 
large as its external appearance led people to conjecture. The 
interior accommodation was much cut up by cross walls and long 
passages, and that neglect of economizing space which charac- 
terizes old Scottish architecture. But there was far more room 
than my old friend required, even when she had, as was often the 
case, four or five young cousins under her protection ; and I 
believe much of the house was unocciipied. Mrs Bethune Baliol 
never, in my presence, shewed herself so much offended, as once 
with a meddling person who advised her to have the windows of 
these supernumerary apartments built up, to save the tax. She 
said in ire, that, while she lived, the light of God should visit the 
house of her fathers ; and while she had a penny, king aad 
country should have their due. Indeed she was punctiliously 
loyal, even in that most staggering test of loyalty, the payment of 
imposts. Mr Beaufifet told me he was ordered to ofifer a glass of 
wine to the person who collected the income tax, and that the 
poor man was so overcome by a ^reception so unwontedly gene- 
rous, that he had well-nigh fainted on the spot. 

You entered by a matted anteroom into the eating parlour, 
filled with old-fashioned furniture, and hung with family portraits, 
which, excepting one of Sir Bernard Bethune, in James the 
Sixth's time, said to be by Jameson, were exceedingly frightfuL 
A saloon, as it was called, a long narrow chamber, led out of the 
dining-parlour, and served for a drawing-room. It was a plea- 
sant apartment, looking out upon the south flank of Holyrood- 
house, the gigantic slope of Arthur's Seat, and the girdle of lofty 
rocks called Salisbury Crags ;* objects so rudely wild, that the 
mind can hardly conceive them to exist in the vicinage of a 
populous metropolis. The paintings of the saloon came from 
abroad, and had some of them much merit. To see the best of 
them, however, you must be admitted into the very penetralia of 
the temple, and allowed to draw the tapestry at the upper end of 
the saloon, and enter Mrs Martha's own special dressing-room. 
This was a charming apartment, of which it would be difficult to 
describe the form, it had so m^y recesses, which were filled'up 
with shelves of ebony, and cabinets of japan and or molu ; some for 

* The Rev. Mr Bowles derives the name of these crags, as of the Episcopal 
city in the west of England, from tlie same root ; both, in his ophiion, which 
he very ably defnids and illustrates, having been the sites of druidieal temfdea. 



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362 CHBONICLBS OP THE CANONGATE. 

holding books, of which Mn Martha had aa admirable ooUection, 
some for a display of ornamental china, others for shells and 
similar curiosities. In a litde niche, half screened by a curtain 
of crimson silk, was disposed a suit of tUting armour of bright 
steel, inlaid with silver, which had been worn on some memorise 
occasion by Sir Bernard Bethune, already mentioned ; while over 
the canopy of the niche, hung the broadsword with which her 
fftther had atteifipted to change the fortunes of Britain in 1715, 
and the spontoon which her elder brother bore when he was 
leading on a company of the Black Watch* at Fontenoy. 

There were some Italian and Flemish pictures of admitted 
authenticity, a few genuine bronzes and other obiects of curiosity^ 
which her brothers or herself had picked up while abroad. In 
short, it was a place where the idle were tempted to become 
studious, the studious to grow idle — where the grave might find 
matter to make them gay, aCnd the gay subjects for gravity. 

That it might maintain some title to its name, I must not for- 
get to say, that the lady's dressing-room exhibited a superb 
mirror, framed in silver filigree work; a beautiful toilet, the cover 
of which was of Flanders lace ; and a set of boxes corresponding 
in materials and work to the frame of the mirror. 

This dressing apparatus, however, was mere matter of parade: 
Mrs Martha Betiiune Baliol always went through the actual 
duties of the toilet in an inner apiurtment, which corresponded 
with her sleeping-room by a small detached staircase. There 
were, I believe, more than one of those turnpike itcUrt, as they 
were called, about the house, by which the public rooms, all of 
which entered through each other, were accommodated with 
separate and independent modes of access. In the little boudoir 
we have described, Mrs Martha Baliol had her choicest meetings. 
She kept early hours ; and if you went in the morning, you must 
not reckon that space of day as extending beyond tluree o'clock, 
or four at the utmost These vigilant habits were attended with 
some restraint on her visiters, but they were indemnified by your 
always finding the best society, and the best information, which 
was to be had for the day in the Scottish capital. Without at all ' 
affecting the blue stocking, she liked books — they amused her — 
and if the authors were persons of character, she thought she , 
owed them a debt of civility, which she loved to discharge by 
personal kindness. When she gave a dinner to a small party, 
which she did now and then, she had the good nature to look for, 
and the good luck to discover, what sort of people suited each 
other best, and chose her company as Duke Theseus did his 
hounds, 

* The well-known original detignation of the gallant 4Sd Regiment. Being 
the flnt ooipB raised for the royal lervioe in the Highlands, and allowed to retail; 
their national garb, they were thus named from the contrast whidi their dark 
tartans fumidiM to the scarlet and white of the other regimeat& 



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INTBODUCTORT. 363 

matched in moath like bells, 

Each under each,* 

80 that every guest could take his part in the cry ; instead of ono 
mighty Tom of a fellow, like Dr Johnson, silencing all besides, by 
the tremendous depth of his diapason. On such occasions she 
afforded ohere exquise ; and every now and then there was some 
dish of French, or even Scottish derivation, which, as well as the 
numerous assortment of Tins extraordinaires produced by Mr 
Beauffet, gave a sort of antique and foreign air to the entertain- 
ment, which rendered it more interesting. 

It was a great thing to be asked to such parties ; and not less 
80 to be invited to the early contertazione, which, in spite of 
fashion, by dint of the best coffee, the finest tea, and chciie ca/i 
that would have called the dead to life, she contrived now and 
then to assemble in her saloon already mentioned, at the un- 
natural hour of eight in the evening. At such times, the cheer- 
ful old lady seemed to enjoy herself so much in the happiness of 
her guests, that they exerted themselves, in turn, to prolong her 
amusement and their own; and a certain charm was excited 
around, seldom to be met with in parties of pleasure, and which 
was founded on the general desire of every one present to contri- 
bute something to the common amusement. 

But, although it was a great privilege to be admitted to wait 
on my excellent friend in the morning, or be invited to her dinner 
or evening parties, I prized still higher the right which I had 
acquired, by old acquaintance, of visiting BalioPs Lodging, 
upon the chance of finding its venerable inhabitant preparing for 
tea, just about six o'clock in the evening. It was only to two or 
three old friends that she permitted this freedom, nor was this 
sort of chance-party ever allowed to extend itself beyond five in 
number. The answer to those who came later, announced that 
the company was filled up for the evening ; which had the double 
effect, of making those who waited on Mrs Bethune BaUol in 
this unceremonious manner punctual in observing her hour, and 
of adding the zest of a little difficulty to the enjoyment of the 
party. 

It more frequently happened that only one or two persons 
partook of this refre^^ent on the same evening ; or, supposing 
.the case of a single gentleman, Mrs Martha, though she did not 
hesitate to admit him to her boudoir, after the privilege of the 
French and the old Scottish school, took care, as she used to say, 
to preserve all possible propriety, by commanding the attendance 
of her principal female attendant, Mrs Alice Lambskin, who 
might, from die gravity and dignity of her appearance, have 
sufficed to matronize a whole boarding school, instead of one 
maideii lady of eighty and upwards. As the weather permitted, 
Mrs Alice sat duly remote from the company in a fauteuil 

'8 MidMimmer Night's Dream, Act IV. Sc 1. 



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364 CHBONICLKS OP THE CANONGATE. 

behind the projecting chimney-piece, or in the embrazure €3ff a 
window, and prosecuted in Carthusian silence, with indefatigable 
zeal, a piece of embroideiy, which seemed no bad emblem of 
eternity. 

But I have neglected all this while to introduce my friend 
herself to the reader, *t least so far as words can convey ^le 
peculiarities by which her appearance and conversation were 
distinguished. 

A httle woman, with ordinary features, and an ordinary form, 
and hair, which in youth had no decided colour, we may believie 
Mrs Martha, when she said of herself that she was never remark- 
able for personal charms ; a modest admission, which was readily 
confirmed by certain old ladies, her oontepiporaries, who, what- 
ever might have been the useful advantages which they more 
than hinted had been formerly their own share, were now, in 
personal appearance, as well as in every thing else, far inferior to 
my accomplished friend. Mrs Martha's features had been of a 
kind which might be said to wear well ; their irregularity was now 
of litde consequence, animated as they were by the vivacity of her 
conversation ; her teeth were excellent, and her eyes, adthough 
inclining to gray, were lively, laughing, and undimmed by tinoe. 
A slight sliade of complexion, more brilliant than her years 
promised, subjected my friend, amongst strangers, to the suspicion 
of having stretched her foreign habits as far as the prudent touch 
of the rouge. But it was a (sedumny ; for when tolling or listening 
to an interesting and affecting story, I have seen her colour come 
and go as if it played on the cheek of eighteen. 

Her hair, whatever its former deficiendes, was now the most 
beautiful white that time could bleach, and was disposed with 
some degree of pretension, though in the simplest manner possible^ 
so as to appear neatly smoothed under a cap of Fknders lace, of 
«n old-fashioned, but, as I thought, of a very handsome form, 
which undoubtedly has a name, and I would vendeavour to recur 
to it, if I thougl^ it would make my description a bit more 
intelligible. I ihink I liave heard her say these favourite caps 
had been her mother^ and had come in fashion with a peculiar 
kind of wig used by the gentlemen about the time of the battie of 
Ramillies. The rest of her dress was always rather costly and 
distinguished, especially in the evening. A silk or satin gown, of 
some colour becoming her age, and of a form which, thon^ 
complying to a certain degree with the present fashion, had 
always a reference to some more distant period, was garnished 
with triple ruffles; her shoes had diamond buckles, and were 
nosed a little at heel, an advantage which, possessed in her youtii, 
she sdleged her size would not permit her to forego in her old age^ 
She always wore rings, bracelets, and other ornaments of value, 
either for ihe materials or the workmanship ; nay, perhaps she 
was a little profuse in this species of display. But she wore them 
as subordinate matters, to which the habit of being constantly in 



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INTRODUCTORY. 365 

high life rendered her indifferent She wore them because her 
rank required, it ; and thought no more of them as articles of 
finery, than a gentleman dressed for dinner tliinks of his clean 
linen and well>brushed coat, the consciousness of which embar- 
rasses the rustic beau on a Sunday. 

Now and then, however, if a gem or ornament chanced to be 
noti^ for its beauty or singularity, the observation usually led 
the way to an entertaining account of the manner in which it had 
been acquired, or the person from whom^ it had descended to its 
present possessor. On such and similar occasions ray old friend 
spoke wUlingly, which is not uncommon ; but she also, which is 
more rare^ spoke remarkably well, and had in her little narratives 
concerning foreign parts, or former days, which formed an inte- 
resting paxt of her conversation, the singular art of dismissing all 
the usual protracted tautology respecting time, place, and circum- 
stances, which is apt to settle like a mist upon the cold and 
languid tales of age, and at the same time of bringing forward, 
dwelling upon, and illustrating, those incidents and characters 
which give point and interest to the story. 

She had, as we have hinted, travelled a good deal in foreign 
countries ; for a brother, to whom she was much attached, had 
been sent upon various missions of national importance to the 
continent, and she had more than once embraced the opportunity 
of accompanying him. This furnished a great addition to the 
information which she could supply, especially during the last war, 
when the continent was for so many years hermetically sealed 
aeainst Ihe English nation. But, besides, Mrs Bethune Baliol 
visited distant countries, not in the modern fashion, when English 
travel in caravans together, and see in France and Italy uttle 
besides the same society which they might have enjoyed at home. 
On the contrary, she mingled, when abroad, with the natives of 
those countries she visit^, and enjoyed at once the advantage 
of their society, and the pleasure of comparing it with tiiat of 
Britain. 

In the course of her becoming habituated with foreign manners, 
Mrs Bethune Baliol had, perhaps, acquired some s%ht tincture 
of them herself. Yet I was always persuaded, that tiie peculiar 
vivacity of look and manner— the pointed and appropriate action — 
with which she accompanied what she said — the use of the gold 
and gemmed tahcUUre, or rather I should say bonbonniirey {for 
she took no snuff, and the little box contained only a few pieces 
ci candied angelica, or some such lady-like sweetmeat,) were of 
.real old-fashioned Scottish growth, and such as might have graced 
the tea-table of Susannah, Ck>untess of Eglinton,* the patroness 
of Allan Ramsay, or of the Hon. Mrs Cok>nel OgUvy, who was 
another mirror by whom the maidens of Auld Reekie ivere 
required to dress themselves. Although well acquainted with 

•See Note G» CowUeu qf EglinifH. 

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866 CHRONICLES OF THE CANOXG ATB. 

the customs of other countries, her manners had been chiefl j • 
formed in her own, at a tune when great folk lived within little 
space, and when the distinguished name of the highest society 
ntve to Edinburgh the edat, which we now endeavour to derive 
from the unbounded expense and extended circle of our plea- 
sures. 

I was more confirmed in this opinion, by the peculiarity of 
the dialect which Mrs Baliol used. It was Scottish, decidedly 
Scottish, often containing phrases and words little used in the 
present day. But then her tone and mode of pronunciation 
were as diifere|it from the usual accent of the ordinary Scotch 
£atow, as the accent of St James's is from that of BillUiesgate. 
The vowels were not pronounced much broader than in the Italiau 
language, and there was none of the disagreeable drawl which i» 
BO offensive to southern ears. In short, it seemed to be the 
Scottish as spoken by the ancient court of Scotland, to which nu 
idea of vulgarity could be attached ; and the lively manner and 
gestures with which it was accompanied, were so completely m 
accord with the sound of the voice and the style of talking, that I 
cannot assign them a different origin. In long derivation, 
perhaps, the manners of the Scotti^ court might have been 
originally formed on that of France, to which it had certainly 
some affinity ; but I will live and die in the belief, that those of 
Mrs BalioI, as pleasing as they were peculiar, came to her by 
direct descent from the high dames who anciently adorned with 
theur presence the royal hi^ of Holyrood. 



CHAPTER VII. 

fiSiti ISaltol nmts Ctoftangis tn ^» Hitetan? 
^9eculattim0. 

Such as I have describe Mrs Bethune Baliol, the reader will 
easily believe that when I thought of the misceUaneous nature of 
my work, I rested upon the information she possessed, and her 
communicative disposition, as one of the principal supports of 
my enterprise. Indeed, she by no means disapproved of my 
proposed publication, though expressing herself very doubtral 
now